


Right Hand of the Divine

by Toshi_Nama



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Gen, Post-Canon, Post-Trespasser
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-15
Updated: 2019-10-22
Packaged: 2019-11-18 11:37:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 28
Words: 75,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18120038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toshi_Nama/pseuds/Toshi_Nama
Summary: The war is ended.  The sky is healed.  Now the real work begins.  Cullen finds himself as Divine Victoria's Right Hand and having to balance the needs of a shattered but regrowing Chantry against the former Templars he is trying to help, the red lyrium still growing across the South, and the tug of his new family.*NOTE* This is still a WIP, and far from complete!





	1. Home

I asked Flurry for a canter, and he obeyed instantly, despite the moonlit shadows on the path.  My escort wound up left behind, though Shadow stayed at our heels.  He was used to running, and the hound had a ground-eating lope even my horse couldn’t match.  We were close: I was sure the sentries were near, but they knew I was coming, and my hood was flat on my shoulders, the Divine’s crest on my breast.  I heard shouting behind, as one demanded the watchword from my now-former escort.

_ Hurry, brave friend.   _ I urged my spotted roan forward.  It had been a long journey for both of us, back from the far side of Orlais.  But this was the last stretch, and we’d gotten a raven this morning saying Fey was in labor.  The moon lit up the graceful willows, trailing fingers in the water of the lake, the regal maples starting to flame red for the season, and the majestic cypress, breathing crisp spice into the air.  Home.  And it only mattered because around the bend…

I pulled Flurry up as we thundered into the main yard.  Eli must have heard: he was standing outside, with little Branson next to him.  I tossed the reins at my brother, slid down and stopped at his quiet raised hand.  “Is she…”

“Easy, Cul.”  He looked at his nephew, now five.  “Can you take Flurry to the stables, and wake up old Master Frederick?  He’ll need a good rub-down, looks like.”  After the boy had stepped away, proud of such an adult responsibility, he looked back at me.  “She’s in the main house, in your rooms – but men aren’t allowed in yet.”

“Damn it, Eli, I’m her husband.”  Shadow whined, and I rubbed his head absently.

He just raised an eyebrow.  “And Mia is running the show.  Correction: there is one male in the room.  Fey insisted that Othrian be around.”  He shrugged.  “No one was going to argue with your lady, not when she takes that tone of voice.”

I snorted.  Most wouldn’t – I was one who would.  But I wasn’t balanced enough to go up against Fey  _ and _ my eldest sister.  “Not many, at least.”  I sighed.  “Fine, Eli, I’ll follow the rules.  But can we at least go inside?  I’d like to get rid of my cloak and shield, and have something to drink.”

We did.  I threw my sword belt over my chair, shield resting next to it, and started pacing.  The dog curled up under the table – used enough to my habits to find somewhere he couldn’t get stepped on – and went to sleep.  Eli just sighed at me and handed over a mug.  “Cul, these things take as long as they take.  I’ve been around for…four, now.  Your lady has the midwife, Mia, Othrian and Ella with her.  She’ll be fine.”

I heard her cry out from upstairs, and tensed.  There was nothing I could do to help her, I knew that, but it didn’t help.  I’d hate Cassandra for pulling me away to deal with a situation near the Hunterhorn mountains – she couldn’t have found a more distant place if she’d tried – but I agreed that she needed a powerful representative there.  And the dwarves had been wary but approved when I called off the Templars and Wardens, told them these were allies from the days of the Breach.  Darkness and terror, the world ending or so we thought.  But Fey had closed the Breach, killed the Magister who opened it, saved Thedas as far as anyone knew.

I took a sip, and almost spat it out.  “Cider?  Eli, I can’t get drunk now.”

He gave me a look.  “I know, Cul.  That’s why you have cider.  It’ll take off the edge, but not dull you too much.”

I rubbed my face and kept pacing.  “I should have been here, but I was needed there.  For three  _ months,  _ Eli.  Almost since we left Val Royeaux to come here.  I should have realized how difficult this appointment would be, but…never mind.  I would have accepted anyway.   _ Did  _ accept, even knowing it would take me away from her.”  I took a second, longer drink.  The cider was cool and crisp – first harvest, if I was any judge. My jaw clenched as I heard her cry out again.  This time, it was followed by a second, hollow cry.  I dropped the cup on the table as I rushed past, took the stairs two at a time, and almost collided with Mia.

“Is she...?”

Mia smiled, but still blocked the door.  “Deep breath, Cullen.”  When I did, she smiled.  “Go in and see your ladies, brother dearest.”

Ladies?  That meant…

The first thing I saw was Fey.  Her beautiful ebony hair was slicked with sweat, her amber skin flushed – but her eyes were as brilliant as ever as she held a blanketed form to her chest.

“Cullen,” she breathed.  “You’re home.”  She lit with a smile, and gestured with the stump of her left arm.  “My love.”

I came to her weak side, and so-gently shifted her so I could sit behind, looking down at the tiny figure, my mind blank.  Even now, she still smelled of lavender and woodsmoke, pine and love.  The little one scrunched up its face and cried again, batting its head against her body.

Ella chuckled.  “She’s hungry, sister.”  Fey relaxed slightly, then realized she had no way to shift the baby –  _ our baby, our precious little girl. _  I put my right arm around her body, using my left where hers had been, and helped the gaping mouth against a nipple.

She winced.  “Easy, little one, easy.”  I brushed her bright red cheek with my fingertip, smiling as she ignored me entirely.

“Fey, she’s beautiful.”

Ella and the midwife were helping Fey clean up.  The midwife slipped to Fey’s side with a little dagger, tied off and cut the cord coming  from her belly, all without disturbing our daughter from her first meal.  “We’ll let you have some time to yourselves.  Call if you need anything – I’ll be in the next room.”  She set a damp towel on the table next to me, and closed the door behind her.

I shifted just enough to see Fey’s face as well as the little one, who was humming softly as she suckled, and pulled her chin close enough to give her a soft kiss.  “I’m home, love.”  I brushed a tear from her cheek with my thumb.

“You’re home.”  She nestled her head back against my chest, knowing I wouldn’t let her fall.  “Can we call her Camilla?”

“Camilla.”  I tasted it on my tongue.  “Camilla Cassandra Rutherford.”  We smiled at each other.  “Cami, Mill…”

She looked at me.  “Little Mia,” and shifted her hand, letting me take the weight of our daughter, so she could also stroke her cheek, shifting her gaze back down.  “Welcome to the world.  You will be loved, and you will fly free.”

I kicked off a boot so I could shift, pulling Fey and our little one -   _ a daughter!  Maker, she’s perfect –  _ up against me as I leaned against the wall behind the headboard, my right leg curled up under Fey’s thighs.  She relaxed into my chest, and I brushed her hair with my cheek.

“I’m here, love.”  I felt her sigh as she drifted off, the little one still having her first meal.

When the door opened, I looked up.  It was the midwife, who smiled.  “A potion for your lady, when she wakes.”  She set it on the table and headed out again.

I looked around the room.  There were so many things I should be doing: making sure my escort made it through the sentries, unpacking, cleaning up…but Fey was asleep in my arms.  As I watched, Camilla’s mouth opened, the sweet scent of milk filling the air as it trickled down the side of her mouth.  I shifted her up a little further, so her head was resting above Fey’s breast, still unable to believe what was right in front of me.  She gave a high-pitched sigh and her little fingers crept out of the blanket, resting on her mother’s chest.

Instead of everything I should do, I closed my eyes, breathing in the scent of them, the sound of the whispering leaves in the wind outside, quiet conversation downstairs.


	2. Family and Duty

The ravens flew the next morning: one to the Divine, to invite Cassandra to see her name-child, to Alissa, if the Hero of Ferelden could be found, and to Bull and the Chargers.  Fey warmed up the sending crystal Dorian had made with the remnants of the magic we’d found used by Corypheus to hold memories.

“Safeyya, my dear!  How are you holding up, with the pregnancy and all?”  His voice was light, but you could still hear the concern.

She chuckled.  “Thank Andraste, the pregnancy part is over.”  My lips twitched at his gasp.  “Camilla was born last night, and is an absolute darling.”  Her eyes warmed as she glanced at me, burping her after her latest meal.  “Already has Cullen wrapped around her finger, of course.”

“As it should be, love.  You’ll need to send a raven to Bull – I haven’t seen him in weeks.  I think the Chargers were out in the Anderfels somewhere.”

I broke in, stepping closer.  “Already done, Pavus, so no spoiling the news.  It will take another few days for the bird to reach Cassandra.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, Commander.”  I smiled as he used the old nickname.  “I kept quiet about the pregnancy, didn’t I?”

“Yes, you did.  How are things in Minrathous?”

“Oh, the usual.  Only one attempt on Mae’s life this past few weeks, and our faction is still gaining members in the Magesterium.  We’re not one of the major powers, yet, but we are starting to be noticed.  But that’s not what’s important.  Tell me all about her!”

We smiled at each other, and Fey continued talking while I took Camilla downstairs.  The rest of the family wanted to see her, too.

There were the expected coos, but it was Shadow I needed to introduce.  He came out from under the table, the greedy fool, curious about the bundle I had in my arms.  I freed a hand, petted his head, but held her out of reach.

“Sit, Shadow.”  He gave me a look and a small whine, but did.  I went to one knee, and turned Camilla to face him – though out of his reach.  He leaned forward, sniffing loudly, and whined again, looking at me.  When I nodded, he inched forward.  She batted him on the nose, and he wuffed softly.  “Camilla, Shadow.  My daughter – and Fey’s.  Family.”  His ears perked at that, and he stuck his nose in her blanket, causing her to open her eyes wide.  I heard a smothered chuckle – Mia, of course.  I pet Shadow again.  “Good boy,” and stood.

Mia walked over and gave Camilla a finger, chuckling as she tried to get it in her mouth.  “Didn’t you just eat, little one?”

“We named her Camilla,” I told the room, and smiled as Mia realized she had a namesake now.

“Whose idea was that, Cul?”  Eli’s voice broke the silence.

Fey answered from the top of the stairs.  “Mine, Eli.  I liked the name.”  She was pale, but had gotten dressed – apparently she found one of my shirts already, and a loose skirt – and was leaning against the wall.

I bit my lip, knowing that things would not go well if I asked whether she should be out of bed.  Rather, I watched as she slowly made her way down, and Eli offered her a hand when she got close.  I pulled out a chair, and she sank into it.  “Thank you, Cullen.”  I sat next to her.  “Your letters were fairly short – what was going on that took so long to calm down?  I didn’t think there was anything on the Orlesian side of the Hunterfells.”

Eli took the baby as I sat down beside her.  Almost like old times, except with the rest of the family around.  And Elim had made herself unobtrusive by the door, of course.  I rubbed my face.  “It should have been nothing.  Just one of those disputes between nobles and Wardens, over the Rite of Conscription.  Someone’s younger son…but a younger son who’d been training for the Templars.

“But it was, because the Templars refused to release him, because he’d already made his vows.”  I shook my head.  “I couldn’t believe it, from either side.”

“The Orlesian Wardens are still short on people – maybe that was it?”  Fey slipped into brainstorming easily, while nibbling on a slice of egg pie Ella had dished up.  She smiled her thanks, but kept her attention on me.

“These weren’t Orlesian Wardens, Fey.  They were from the Anderfels.”

Her eyes narrowed.  “I thought Alissa – the Warden-Commander of Ferelden - went to Weisshaupt after she left Val Royeaux to deal with them.  Didn’t we get something from her, just after we got back here to Honnleath?”  She thought.  “I should still have the letter upstairs, but don’t want to go for it right now.  I guess that whatever she did, either these Wardens hadn’t heard because they were already out, or it didn’t have anything to do with recruiting…”

I finished for her.  “…or somehow, it only made other issues worse.  Yes.  I’d guess either your first idea, or the last – but that’s as much because of what happened next.”

“The Kal-Sharok dwarves came: you wrote that much, and that there was a message for ‘her’, but you weren’t sure if that was Cassandra or me.”

I nodded, as Mia leaned against the wall and joined in.  “Kal-Sharok?  I thought the dwarves just had Orzammar and…Kal-Hirol, wasn’t it, that was reclaimed?”

“We – the Inquisition – made an alliance of convenience at one point, with dwarves who said they were from Kal-Sharok.  Orzammar said they’d reappeared, oh, thirty years ago now, but were very reclusive.  Orzammar doesn’t like discussing them for some reason.”  Fey shrugged.

“Religious, perhaps?”  Elim’s voice entered the discussion.  She would know – the Chantry had almost stamped out all knowledge of the Blades of Hessarian, until Fey had allied with  _ them. _  Even now, the Blades kept a low profile.  One or two, we had sponsored into the Seekers…who Cassandra said were still not ready to reappear.

“Perhaps.  Either way, why did their appearance make things worse?”

I reached over and poured myself some tea.  “Because when they showed up, the Wardens went silent, then demanded the rest of us leave.”

Everyone went silent as they processed that one.

“No, I still don’t know why: neither the Wardens nor the dwarves would discuss it.  But the dwarves were insistent that they were here to talk to ‘the one who serves her,’ and no one else.  And the Wardens almost went to blows…and because tempers were so high, the Templars were ready to brawl.”  I snorted.  “I was able to shout down the Templars, and get them to work with the nobles and my escort to separate the Wardens and dwarves – who had mostly been trying to stay defensive, bless the Maker.  And made it clear these were allies of the Inquisition, and thus, Her Holiness.”

“Cullen, love, that doesn’t sound right.  I can’t see the Templars just…jumping into a fight like that, not after everything Ser Barris and Ser Derillius have done in Orlais.”

I met her eyes, and saw the same uneasiness I’d felt since that meeting.  “It’s not, Fey.  I don’t know what’s going on.  They seemed fine after I made them stand down, but almost like they didn’t know why it happened.”

She thought, and ate some more as I drank my tea.  “Cullen, did you look around the area for red lyrium while you were there?”

I swore, Elim choked off a sound, and Mia sat upright.  “No.  I didn’t think – I should have!”  Templars needed lyrium, but the red lyrium made them angry, paranoid…and worse.  I was the only one here who’d seen it firsthand, before it was used against the Inquisition.  I grabbed pen and paper, and started scribbling.  “Who should I…not the Knight-Commander there…”

“Send Rylen.”  Mia spoke up.  “He’s done wonders helping to set up the routines and everything for those trying to break off lyrium, but Bree could take over.  He needs to feel useful again, and his experience on his own would help.”  Fey’s lips twitched, where Mia couldn’t see, but she nodded.

“It would work, love.  He doesn’t have the same sensitivity to magic as you still do, but he has more experience hunting strange things – and has seen the lyrium wild, if you will.”

I nodded.  “I’ll have my escort head off with him – they can stop at the Sunburst Throne, if they don’t meet Cassandra on her way here, and pass on what I’ve sent them to investigate.”  She swore she would come out for the baby.  “Leliana at least will be there, and can take the messages as well, since this affects the Chantry.  We need to have all Templars warned about the corrupted lyrium that might still be out there - and probably both the mage Circles and College of Enchanters.  They also use lyrium, so may also be susceptible.”  I finished the missive, folded it and dripped wax – then blew on the enchanted ring on my right hand, the one Fey had commissioned for certain of us, before stamping it with the seal of the Inquisition we’d hidden in the bodyguard, the sword dripping tears.  A second wax blot for the more common seal, the crest of the Divine.  No one would open it now except for Leliana or Cassandra.  None without an enchanted ring even could without destroying the message.

“Either way, I was weeks arguing with the Wardens, Templars and noble families, and then another week dealing with the dwarves – they needed me to come under the Stone, to hear from the right person.”  Mia nodded – she’d worked with the Legion of the Dead when the dwarves came to help save Ferelden.  “After  _ that,  _ another week and a half arguing with the Wardens who insisted on hearing what happened, tried to conscript me to force it out, and then pushed them out of Orlais, without the recruit they’d tried to get at the beginning.”  I sighed.  “I’ve already sent a note to Warden Nathaniel in Ferelden and to the Warden Commander…I don’t remember her name…in Orlais.”

“Deanne.”

“That’s it, Fey.  Warden Commander Deanne.”

She looked at me, looked through me, saw how much I couldn’t say here, in front of people I couldn’t risk.  “I’ve finished eating, Camilla just had her meal…and I need to move.  She stood and held out her hand.  “Walk with me to the lake, love?”

It was home – but I still belted on my sword.  Elim grabbed Fey’s boots for her, and we headed out.  The crisp scents of fall surrounded us, and she chuckled as Shadow chased one falling leaf after another.  She twined her arm in mine, moving slowly.

“Should you be walking so soon?”  I bit my lip again as she looked at me.

“Cullen, I don’t care.  I’ve been cooped up in that room for two days.”  She sighed.  “That wasn’t fair, and was only partly your fault.”  She raised an eyebrow, and I twitched a smile.  “But I was going crazy.  And if I get tired, we can rest.  They know where we’re going, if Camilla needs me.”

I pulled her close for a kiss.  “I’ll try to be less over-protective.”  It wouldn’t be easy.  I still remembered how I had the Inquisition’s forces take over the Palace at Val Royeaux, when we were dealing with the Exalted Council, the nobles of both Orlais and Ferelden, and then the Qunari plot.  Even with all that, I still almost lost her.  Again.

She squeezed my arm, and started walking.  I took a deep breath, the cypress scent still stronger than the falling leaves, and caught a hint of the apple grove rich and sweet on the far side of the house.  Finally, the muscles in my back that had been tense for months started to relax.  I caught a glimpse of one of the sentries – probably one of the Dalish – in the maples up the hill, but knew we would be left in peace.  When we reached the lake, Fey sighed.  “Sitting for a bit sounds pleasant, but the ground’s a bit too damp.

I hadn’t grabbed my cloak – not on a day so nice – but gave that half-smile she said she loved so much as an idea came to me.  “We can make do somehow, I think.”  I slowly pulled off my shirt, watching her gaze heat, and spread it on the leaves.  “My lady?”  She gave a throaty chuckle, but moved toward me instead, running her hand up my chest to pull me into a kiss before it started wandering back down toward my waist…and belt.  As much as I missed her, as much as the taste of her, the feel of her against me blurred my mind…she’d just had a baby.  I put my hand on hers, brought it up between us and pulled away just enough to speak.  “Not until we speak with the midwife, Fey.  I’m not going to risk hurting you now.”

She sighed, kissed me again, and kept my hand as she lowered herself – taking up all of the shirt – and leaned back on her elbow and stump.  “I hate it when you’re right, sometimes.”  I just rested my sword against the tree, then stretched out on my side, propped up on one arm.

She looked out over the lake – I knew she found peace watching the water, just as I did – but for now I drank in the sight of her.  Eventually, she spoke again.  “Cullen, what did they have to say?”

I closed my eyes.  “Good for ending one magister, and one hole.  Now there’s Blight in the Stone – and that will affect us all.  Will she stand with us?”  As much as I wanted to convince myself the message was for the Divine, I knew better – and opening my eyes to see Fey’s profile, so did she.

She swallowed.  “The red lyrium…and the Titans.”

The discovery that the Stone may actually be Titans, creatures that were also the very earth beneath our feet…and lyrium that powered magic, their blood had shaken her Inner Circle – but we hadn’t spread the knowledge.  It was too terrifying.  Anything living could become Blighted, and Corypheus had used people to  _ grow  _ that blighted lyrium, used it to change his Templars and mages into monstrous creatures, bound by the Blight to rage and his control.  All most knew was that red lyrium was bad, and it grew…and was fantastically difficult to clear once rooted.  The Orlesian Wardens had some luck, given their resistance to the Blight, but entire regions of the Empire were still uninhabitable, and would be for years.  Nathaniel and the Ferelden Wardens had less to deal with, other than the tower on the Storm Coast and the two abandoned fortresses.  They’d more or less just sealed the areas off until Alissa could come back to help deal with them.

“We could be wrong.”

She shook her head.  “If it’s not that, then it’s another of the Seven loose in the Deep Roads, and that might frighten me even more, because then it’s thinking.  Besides, they said the Stone, not a magister.”  She looked at me.  “We have some time: we can respond, and start researching.  We need to know what we’re up against.”  She looked down at her stomach, still stretched from the past months.  “And I need to be able to get back in my armor.”

This time I kept from saying what I thought, choked down my immediate rejection of what she was implying.   _ She doesn’t need to train right now, she needs to recover!  But if I say something now, she’s going to go for my throat, and that wouldn’t be good for her.   _ I fished for something else, then remembered the quirk of a grin when Mia mentioned Bree taking over the Recovery Home.  “Why did you smile at Mia’s suggestion about the Recovery Home?”

Her eyes twinkled at me as she pulled her knees up to her chest.  “Oh, no reason.”

“Of course not.”  I ran my hand along her skirt and tweaked her fingertips.

Her voice was all-too innocent when she continued.  “Bree and Mia have been spending a lot of time together, that’s all.”

“Wait.  What?  Mia…and Bree?”  But she’s…but they’re...

“Both warriors, both old enough to know their own minds, and very happy together.”

Yes, but… “Bree is my age!”

“And?  Cullen, there’s seven years between Bree and Mia – but does that mean much?”  She gazed at me.  “There’s five between us, and that’s not mattered.”

I stared into nothing, realizing she was right.  “It’s just…nothing I’d ever considered.  She threw herself into managing the farm, and the family, after the Blight – her letters never talked about anything else, when she talked of herself and home.”  My voice softened.  “I never thought to wonder if she lost someone – so many died, that year.”  I rolled onto my back, resting on both elbows as I looked across the lake, the willows just starting to turn yellow with the season, the maple leaves vibrant on the water.

Fey’s voice was reluctant.  “We should probably head back – I shouldn’t be gone from little Mia too long.”

I helped her up, then collected my shirt – soaked – and sword.  I just slipped the swordbelt back on, and tucked the shirt into it.  “Then let’s head back to the house.”


	3. Discipline

When we got back, Eli’s lips got tight, and Mia paled.  “Oh, Cullen.”  I had no idea what they were talking about, but could hear Camilla crying upstairs, so helped Fey to the bed.  She lay on her side, resting the baby’s head on the remnants of her left arm, and holding her with her free hand.  It worked: she found the nipple and settled into her humming, happy…lunch?

“Go back downstairs, Cullen.  You need to talk to your family.”

“Fey?”

“You’ve never stripped around them, have you.”

I’ve never…oh.  Oh, Maker.  “No, I hadn’t.  I never thought – a lot of Templars have scars, and given what happened at Kinloch…and then Kirkwall…”  She met my eyes, understanding.  I found a new shirt and slipped it on, feeling self-conscious.

“Love, you have nothing to be ashamed of.”

Was that true?  I suppose I shouldn’t be ashamed of the scars on my body, but the man I’d been during those terrible years…and met Fey’s eyes again.  Kissed her hair, and Mia’s dark fuzz.  “I’ll try remember that.”

Mia had The Look on her face when I came back down.  “Off, Cullen.”  It was just her and Eli – Elim was upstairs, I’d heard her in the next room, and Ella must be out with everyone else, getting in the last of the apple harvest.

I sighed and pulled off my shirt again.  It was hard, watching my sister’s eyes fill with tears as she came close, traced the bad scar across my shoulder – the Qunari attack, if I remembered right – the ridge of the burn on my hip.

She swallowed, hard.  “This is why you left?”

“The Templars?”  I shook my head.  “No.”  I reached up and touched my lip, the last mark my Knight-Commander had left, before she’d burned out to the red lyrium, the poison and madness in her blood.  “This is, Mia, and the scars that don’t show.”  I sighed.  “I told you I never wanted you to know what Kirkwall cost me.  I still don’t.”

“Varric told me about the Qunari, about the fall of the Circle, but even with what I saw in Ferelden during the civil war, I…I couldn’t translate it to  _ you.   _ You, my baby brother who learned far too much about duty from me, who was so determined to keep people safe.”  The tears ran down her face.  “And until I started helping with the Templars you invited here, I had no idea what leaving the Order must have meant…or done.  Even then, you were  _ you,  _ and I couldn’t make myself understand.”

I put the shirt back on, then held her, her head still only coming up to my chest.  “Mia, you taught me the strength to endure, to walk away, to be the Commander the Inquisition needed.”

“You were  _ thirteen  _ when you left!  I mean, I’d heard about Kinloch, I’ve seen…I saw injury, and death, during the Blight.  But you were my little brother, the serious boy who wanted so much to do something that mattered.  It’s just – hard to remember, sometimes.”

I gave my sister a final hug and stepped away.  “I know, Mia.  But you and Cassandra gave me hope and reason to go on long before I met my wife.  I told you that.”

“Cassandra?  Oh.  The Divine.  You’re comfortable…of course, you worked with her for a year before she was elected.  You’re her Right Hand – the first man to hold that position.”  Mia shook her head.  “Cullen, I thought you and Safeyya were going to settle down, stay on the farm and help your fellow Templars.”  She scoffed.  “I should have known better.”

“Mia, you wear one of the rings Fey made for what the Inquisition’s core must morph into.  You knew better already – and if you didn’t, I’m sure Bree has caught you up.”  I fought a smile as her face went blank.  “I’ll still need her, you know that, but I’m sure she’ll have plenty of reason to spend time here as well.”  I headed upstairs before she could catch her voice, and listened to Eli’s soft chuckle.

I got up just in time to help take Camilla and tuck her in for another nap.  Fey turned to me.  “You need to answer them, send it with Rylen.”  She took a deep breath, and her voice was firm, certain.  The voice of the Herald of Andraste, of the Inquisitor – the woman we’d followed, that I’d watch turn into a leader that could shake empires.  “Write it from you, but the answer has to be yes.  Invite them to send a delegation here – their pass will be the question they asked me.  You also need to write Bull, to have him put out feelers for any signs of red lyrium, corruption in Templars or mages...and to start watching the Wardens.  They fell under Corypheus’ sway in the South, but their secrets could affect all of us.  Even Alissa still keeps some of them.”

“Now?”

She shook her head.  “It will be at least a month, possibly two, for the dwarves to send someone.  You know Rylen will take two or three weeks to get back up to the mountains, especially as the season changes.  Then they have to get here.  The only Deep Roads entrance I know of is over in Arl Teagan’s territory, at Valamar – and I don’t know if it connects, or is safe to use.  Any information they have on the Blight or red lyrium…or how it affects the Stone…they should bring or send, but only through one of our own.  You’ll also need to guarantee them an escort, for if they come.”

I didn’t want to.  I didn’t want to risk bringing danger here, the safe place of my childhood memories, somewhere for Fey and I to raise our daughter.  But that was foolish, and I knew it.  “Very well.”

Her eyes shadowed as she heard the Commander’s voice, but she stayed firm: the Inquisitor, still.  “There is no other choice.  You know that.  They must come here, or I must go to them.”

I bowed slightly.  “I’ll write it, and get it to Rylen before he leaves.”  I couldn’t bear to see the tears welling in her eyes, and touched her cheek, her husband once more.

She shook her head to answer the unspoken question.  “It’s the baby – just weepiness.”  She kissed my fingertips, and watched me walk out of her room.

The first ones were easier.

_‘Captain,_ _We need to track lyrium, particularly off-color.  Also, those who can be corrupted, and others who deal with the Blight._ _Ari_

 _‘Mage_ _Make sure the cult didn’t bring any souvenirs back home, particularly red ones, please?_ _Shok’_

I pondered, then wrote one more.

_‘Widdle_ _We need more information - anything that could apply to ‘blighted Stone.’  Not just lyrium, but start there._ _Ari’_

These, I sealed with the enchanted ring - they needed to be kept private.  Even then, Bull had asked to keep things coded to some degree.  I was amused that he’d just named Fey ‘boss’ in Qunari, as best I understood it - ‘subtle’ was a random thing with our giant grey friend, sometimes.  It was a common enough short name in Ferelden, though, so I should give him more credit.  ‘Shok,’ something martial, for me.  Dorian and Fey could talk via crystal at any time - this way, the mage knew I needed the information as well.  And now Dagna, our brilliant arcane researcher - and dwarf - would start digging.  How Sera named her ‘Widdle,’ I’d never know.  It was at least something no one else would guess.

_ ‘Yes, she will stand with you.  She cannot travel: she invites you to send a delegation to where her Commander stays, near the lake at Honnleath.  An escort will be available, either through the Grey Wardens at Amaranthine Keep or from the Divine’s own guard.  She shall pull her resources to learn what there is of the Blight and Stone, but asks you to bring – or send – the knowledge from within.’ _

Sealed, but only with that of the Right Hand this time.  They would understand, had seen that crest.  I took it with me, to the complex I’d asked to have built, while the Inquisition was still in place.  “Ser Rylen, this must go only to the dwarves of Kal-Sharok.  Their passcode through the sentries here will be ‘the question she answered.’  I’m not telling that question to you, I will to the sentries once you’ve gone.”  He nodded.  Even among those we trusted, we had to be careful what knowledge we shared.  “Send a raven when they decide what to do, so we know.”

“Ser.”

My voice lowered.  “And – be safe, Rylen.  This is...I don’t know what’s happening, but it isn’t good.”

“Commander, we’re not part of her Circle because we wanted to be safe.”  I knew.  “But, we also don’t intend to throw our lives away.”

I shook myself, still hating the feel of sending others into danger, no matter how much I had done it over the years.  “Show Bree and I around, and let us know what you’ve changed?”  I looked at the courtyard – mostly a training yard, partly split in two.

“Of course, Ser.  As you can see – and Bree knows – the side wings are private quarters, much like we’re used to.  Simple, but comfortable.  The back wing is dining, kitchen, study and library spaces, and administration.  Rooms for myself, plus three others: I usually have at least one aide.  We also have two healers, one an accomplished herbalist, and one mage that is here part-time, between this and the College of Enchanters at Redcliffe.  She’s out at the moment.”  I nodded.  “And the building splitting the Yard?”

“Armory, Ser, as well as a small forge.  Some room for leatherworking and the like.”

Bree smiled and pitched in.  “We closed off the front side of the courtyard by request of those here – the withdrawal is hard, as you know, and those who are living out their years…well, enough when they arrived remembered, and didn’t want to risk wandering.  It’s why the windows for the quarters are so small – preference.  We had to modify that after the fact.”

“The split?  Doesn’t that make the yard less useful?”

“If you notice, the East yard has the kitchen gardens as well as benches, while the West is more traditional.  The retired Templars feel less of a need to train, and the recovering ones needed distance from the lyrium-scent.”

I blinked.  “That was a good idea, and one I hadn’t considered.”  We kept walking around the Yard.  “I stepped away from the Order, so wasn’t near it through the worst times.”

“Ser.”  I looked at Rylen.  “With these messages, I should go – and today.  There’s still a good six or seven hours of light.”

“You’re right.  Take half my escort.  We can’t afford to risk you.  The others, I’ll keep here, in case the Divine has duties for me.  They can train with either the sentries or the Templars, based on Bree’s determination.”

He bowed – I was no longer just the Commander, the Right Hand was as political as military – and left.  The tension, the joy, the twisting feeling when I saw the tears in Fey’s eyes, the sense that the tentative peace we had hoped for may be further off than we’d realized…. “Bree.  Feel up for a round or two?  I’m sure they have bandas in the armory.”

She chuckled.  “Are you awake enough, Ser?”

I glared, she laughed, and we walked into the armory to find the training gear.

**

We finished, panting, as some of the recovering Templars came out to gear up.  I was not pleased with myself.  I knew my age and what my body had been through and healed from - but it was hard to accept my prime was now in my past.  I still should be better than this.  “I need to train more often – too many days in the saddle, not enough in front of the pells.”

Bree nodded.  “Same.  Come by daily?”

“Commander Cullen!”

I nodded, then turned.  I recognized the rimmed eyes, the tremors of her hands.  “Sera,” I said quietly.

“You…you…Ser Rylen said that you made it through.”  Her voice was shaking.  I noticed several others casually drifting in our direction.

“Yes, Sera, I did.”

“The nightmares…”  As she said that, one of those behind her shuddered.

My heart was breaking.   _ This is what Cassandra watched you go through, helped you get through.  I have to find a way to help them – just providing this space isn’t enough.   _ “They ease, after time.”  I kept my voice quiet.  No one else could understand the chain.

“You were at Kinloch, too.  The one we couldn’t get to, who survived despite everything.”  I recognized him, though had lost the name.

“Yes.”   _ Blood and magic and lyrium, rank in the air.  Kinloch – and Kirkwall.  Madness and whispers, the need burning in my veins.   _ Even after so long, I couldn’t help the shudder.  Not here, not around others who would understand.

Tears in his eyes.  “We couldn’t get to you – the Knight-Commander ordered the doors sealed.  We had no idea anyone could still be alive.  When he sent in the Wardens, we thought it was another cruel joke, a way to eliminate the mage that had escaped him.”  He shook.  “I wouldn’t have left anyone behind – we shouldn’t have.”

_ Karsten.  That’s right – from Amaranthine.  _ “Ser Karsten – I had run the other direction, and was near the top of the Tower.  I’ve talked to Alissa since, and even she doesn’t know how she made it through.  Help from Senior Enchanter Wynne, certainly: it’s possible it would have required that kind of magic as well as Templar training.”  I shook my head.  “You followed orders.”  The words were sour in my mouth.  I’d followed orders, too, and doomed Kirkwall by doing so.

“We shouldn’t have.  I asked to go to a Chantry, somewhere away from mages…and then everything fell apart.  I just…I couldn’t…and then I heard you’d broken the chain.”

I nodded again.  “You’re right.  Some orders shouldn’t be followed – but knowing which is which is…challenging.”  Something told me that if he broke free, this one would be going to the Seekers.

The woman spoke again.  “How did you survive the dreams, the fire…”  she rubbed her wrists.

I thought.  “The Divine’s request helped me find purpose.  But before that – I would run or train, whenever the dreams woke me.  There is land here, and quiet so long as you speak with a sentry when you head out so we know where to find you.”  I gave a weary half-smile.  “I had a lot less endurance than I had need; we don’t want you to collapse out there.”  A few smiles back.  “For now, though,” I nodded at the bandas, “paired drill with the weighted sticks.”  I rested my sword in the rack, and grabbed one myself.  “Captain Bree: call time, if you would.  Slow time – this is an opportunity for both of us to spot form.  Rotate every ten minutes.”

“Commander.”

**

After, Bree and I spoke with them.  “What did Captain Rylen set as the daily routine?”

“Half have morning drill, half afternoon.  Study around lunch: politics, the Chant, history, geography, whatever suits our interests.  The other half-day, we have to ourselves for crafting or personal pursuits.  We rotate chores: cook’s assistant, the yard, cleaning the common areas, repair and upkeep of the Home.”

I nodded.  “Captain Bree, if there is interest I would recommend setting up a course for dawn endurance runs.”  Mornings were always the worst – and the land around the Farm was beautiful, and clear of complications.  “Make sure the sentries know: and for you,” I turned to the former Templars, “remember the sentries are ours, and leave them be.”

A chorus of ‘Ser’s, steadier than I’d heard until now.

“If anyone enjoys or wishes to learn bow and hunting, there will be opportunities on a weekly basis, with the off-duty sentries.”  I looked back at the woman who approached me first.  Fatima, I’d heard the name.  She may have been from near Ostwick, by her looks.  “Are there inspections of quarters?”

“No, Commander.”

“There are now.  Every other day, immediately after breakfast.”

I could see some relaxation – Captain Rylen had taken things just a bit too easy on them: I could understand why; since he had recovered in the center of the Inquisition after Corypheus, he may not have realized how much his duties supported him.

“Captains Rylen and Bree will be your primary commanders here.  However, when my duties permit, I will train with you as well.  With both groups – so I will not be regularly at drill.”  I thought.  “There are only a few who have come through: Ser Rylen and I, Sera Lysette who joined the Seekers, a handful of others.  I have other duties as well, but…talk to each other, and write.”  I smiled at their expressions.  “It is something I learned from a Revered Mother, two years ago.  I’ll requisition blank books.  Write out your nightmares, your fears, your questions, your hopes.  If you wish, Captains Bree and Rylen will have letters delivered for you to those of us who have broken the chain.

“One last thing: your families…may not understand.  Few know what we have given for the Order.  But we will deliver any letters to family or friends.  We may be able to support visits: I would have to check on arrangements, if you wish that, and we may need to take time to build onto the Home.”

I took a step back, nodded.  “Dismissed.”  They saluted, and moved on to free-form bouts: one judging and keeping time for each pair.

“Any questions, Bree?”  We walked toward the entrance.

“No, Ser.”

“They need routine, Bree, and order.  It will help.”

She looked at me.  “Like you designed for the Inqusition, and then maintained yourself.”

I raised an eyebrow, then smiled wryly.  “Yes.  Though I did not realize then how much it was helping me: I knew it was necessary from my time in Kirkwall, as Knight-Captain and later Knight-Commander.”


	4. Sacrifice

Wake with Camilla, run with the Templars and Shadow…breakfast with Fey and the family.  Back to the Templar Home or paperwork, depending on the morning.  Walk with Fey after lunch, then either paperwork or the Home, whichever I hadn’t done the day before.  Evenings with the family.

The third day of this, I came back from the Home early, to see Fey and Mia stretching in the meadow.  “Ladies?”

“Oh, Cullen!  You’re home early…we were going to go a round or two.”  Fey smiled, but I felt my face freeze.

“No.”

“Cullen, it will be fine.  It’s your sister.”

“No.”  It was too soon, she had healing to do…she was so tired, because Camilla hadn’t started sleeping yet.

Fey turned her face away, and Mia walked up.  “Excuse us, sister.  Finish your warmup, we’ll be right back.”  She grabbed my collar, and pulled.  I could have stood up and broken her hold, but…she was still my older sister.

“Cullen, what in Andraste’s name has gotten into you?”

“Nothing, Mia!  She just had a baby, she needs time to sleep and heal, not…”

I didn’t get further, because she slapped me.  I just stopped and stared.

“I love you, but right now you’re being an idiot.”  Her voice was hard.  

“I’m not being an idiot, I’m trying to keep her safe!”

“Cullen, you haven’t been here.”  Pain shivered through me at those words, so true.  Even if I had no other choice, I  _ hadn’t  _ been there for her.  Damn duty, but I couldn’t turn away, not when we’d made a commitment.  “Safeyya needs her life back.   _ Yes,  _ she’s had a baby.   _ Yes,  _ she needs to heal.”  I winced at the cutting sound.  “But more than that, she needs the exercise to help her body find normal, to believe she’s still herself.”  She looked at me.  “And she needs to know that you can and  _ will  _ still see her as herself, a woman and warrior, as well as a mother.”  She gave a level look, and I dropped my eyes.  “Figure it out, and fast.”

She left me there, went back over to Fey, and they finished warming up and grabbed the sticks.  I watched from where I was, saw how her muscles still moved fluidly as they kept the tempo easy.   _ Was Mia right?  _  I had to think, instead of feel, even with the pain of what Mia had said.  It was so much harder, because of how much she’d gone through…how much she meant.   _ Mia – Mia delivered Branson.  She was there when Eli’s wife died to the stillbirth – she’s been midwife with the healers. _  She knew what she was talking about, and I could see that in front of me.  I took a deep breath.   _ Step up to the line, and help her.  Deal with your guilt later.   _

I walked up, and Fey paused.  “Pick up the pace.”  My voice sounded strange to me, the Commander’s voice.  So long as I could remember that, and think as a warrior healing, I could do what she needed.  “Light contact, but sweating won’t hurt either of you.”  Fey turned away again for a moment, and wiped her face.  Then she faced Mia, and they started again.

I stopped them when her form started dropping.  “Enough for today.  Fey, you’re losing your high guard.  Mia, you’ve gotten sloppy because of it.”  I gently took the stick from Fey, and met her eyes with a deep breath.  “You were right, and I was wrong.  We’ll find a way to make sure you can train daily – but you need to talk to the midwife and make sure you know the things to watch out for, and only with someone else to supervise until your endurance is back.”

She bit her lip, and Shadow came up to her with a whine.  “It’s just hormones, Shadow,” she said huskily, and pet him.  She glanced at me and nodded slightly.  I could hardly breathe, my chest tight, when she turned and walked back to the house alone, Shadow at her side.

Mia touched my cheek, and I started.  “Some of it really is just being unbalanced, Cullen.  Babies do strange things to a mother’s body, and it doesn’t stop right after delivery.”  Her eyes were kind again.  “She loves you.  And she does understand duty.”  As much an apology as I was likely to get for what she’d said earlier.

That evening I thought.  Fey was feeding Camilla upstairs, and I realized how much smaller the House had gotten - or how much larger my duties had.  Perhaps both.  “I was wondering, Eli, is there still enough time in the season to put up a house?”

He considered.  “It depends on what you’re wanting, Cul.  For you and Fey, I assume?”

I sighed.  “Yes, but also for my escort, her bodyguard, a healer or Othrian when they’re with us, a guest room or two – Cassandra is coming soon, we hope, but she is likely to visit when her duties allow.  Some of the old Inquisition leaders may as well.”

He stood up to find a large piece of paper and some charcoal, started sketching.  “Offices?  A study?”

I pondered.  “I…don’t know.  We both had our own back at Skyhold, but usually found ourselves working out of one or the other.”  I chuckled, remembering how it drove the messengers to distraction, trying to figure out where to deliver all the reports.  “Assume one, but large enough to pace.”

He nodded.  “Plus nursery…if you’ll have that many, you’ll need kitchen as well as a large gathering space.  You can probably use your study for a smaller one.”  He pursed his lips as the lines formed on the paper, then looked at the result.  “Yes, I think we can.  It will be difficult, though – there aren’t that many to do the labor.”

“I can help – and ask the former Templars if they wanted to learn the skill.  The work and seeing something built with their hands will do them well.  I can also volunteer my escort.  They have been complaining since we got here.”  I saw a movement at the stairs: Fey.  Camilla must have gone to sleep.

“Do you want to see what Eli and I were working on?  It just needs your approval.”

Her eyebrows rose.  “Of course.”  She looked at the drawing and took a breath.  “Cullen?  Is this what I think it is?”

“If you like it, yes.”  I looked her in the eyes.  “We both will have so much work to do, and the family House is getting cramped.”

Her lips twitched.  “You mean, your escort is still grumpy about sleeping in the stable loft.”

I snorted.  “They just need discipline.  I thought we might need the space, and if you’re going to have a delegation or two coming out – it would make things easier.”  I thought over the land.  “Actually, there might be just enough space over by the lake.”

Eli considered.  “Yes, and that clearing is just large enough.”  He nodded.  “I’ll write a list of what you need.”

A raven came at dawn, with the date the Divine would arrive…and orders sending me to the College of Enchanters in Redcliffe.  I held Fey close, kissed Camilla, and took the list with me.  Redcliffe would have everything we needed, since there was no time this year to fell trees and season the wood.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can.”  So long as the situation wasn’t dire, there was just enough time to get to Redcliffe, deal with things and be back before Cassandra arrived.

She reached up and gently brushed a stray lock from my brow.  “Then go quickly, and come safely back to me.”  She reached up for one last kiss, and I turned and mounted Flurry before I could change my mind.  My roan led my escort as we headed into the sun.

**

We returned on a late afternoon, after dropping off Enchanter Sven at the Templar Home.  I saw several coming back from the direction of the lake, and my eyebrow rose.  “You’re done for the day already?”

Ser Karsten replied.  “Yes, Ser.  That lets Ser Rutherford and the skilled craftsmen prepare things for the following morning, and gives the Herald some peace and quiet.”

I nodded after the moment it took to tie ‘Ser Rutherford’ to Eli.  “Wait – I don’t see Ser Pieoter.  Did he decide to work in the Home?”

Ser Karsten’s eyes fell.  “He…he…”

I closed my eyes.  “Maker light his path.  He fought hard.”

“Thank you, Ser.  But we are delaying you.”

I shook my head, and gave a white lie, followed by truth.  “No matter.  Your needs are important as well.”  I considered.  “I will likely be helping with the building, but will still try come for drill.”

“Ser.”  With a bow, Ser Karsten and the others continued walking back, shadowed discreetly by two of the sentries.  I turned Flurry back toward the House…and family.

I was hailed by Mia as I got close.  “Cullen!”

I swung off the horse, holding his reins.  “Mia?  Is everything alright?”

She smiled.  “Fine, Cullen.  You’ve only been gone seventeen days – and well within raven-range, if anything had happened.  Speaking of, the Divine should arrive day after tomorrow.  You made good time.”

“Fey?”

“Oh, she’s usually down by the lake this time of day.  Little Mia’s begun napping, and it’s a chance for her to have time by herself.”  I saw Bree come out of the house, a smile on her face.

“Bree?”

“Nothing, Ser.  I’m sure she wouldn’t mind company.”

I gave a glare, and she laughed.

“Go, Ser.  We’ll take care of Flurry and get your escort settled.”

**

I didn’t see her as I walked toward the lake, which would have worried me if I hadn’t noticed another sentry in the Father Pine, who gave the all-clear when she saw me look up before returning to her scans.  We’d gotten the weeks of false summer: the sun poured down golden and warm enough we hadn’t bothered with cloaks for the entire trip back from Redcliffe.

As I came down the final hill, I saw a smile pile of clothing, and suddenly understood why everyone was ‘giving the Herald some privacy.’  Fey must have taken advantage of the warmth to go for a swim.  I unbelted my sword, stripped, and slipped into the water, just first-gasp cool.  It felt wonderful as the dust and sweat from days in the saddle came off my skin.  Then I noticed a ripple, and kicked off toward her.

She had just reached the low dock, her hand grabbing as she got her feet under her.  There, the water was chest-high on me…shoulder-high for her.  She turned, and her eyes lit.  “Cullen!”  She pushed her hair back from her face as I came up to her, reached for me and rested her head against my neck for a moment.

I kissed her hair, but the warmth of her, the cool water around us, the quiet…the weeks away…I wanted so much more.  I kissed her hair, her temple, her cheekbone, her lips as she tilted her head.  When her tongue flickered against my lips, I caught my breath and dug my fingers in her hair, lost in the taste and feel of her.  Common sense, and the need to not hurt her, pulled me back for a moment.  “Fey,” I breathed.

She caressed my shoulder, my chest, pressed close as she answered softly.  “She said we just have to be careful, but to trust what my body tells me.”  She pushed herself up, kissed me again as her hand twined around my neck.

It was all I needed to hear.  I ran my hands down her back, undoing the simple breastband as I went and slid my hands under her smallclothes.  I nibbled her neck as I pulled her hips against mine, then kissed her throat, between her breasts under the surface, enjoying their new fullness, sliding the wisp of fabric off under the water.  I ran my hands up the backs of her thighs, my blood heating at her gasp, and captured her mouth with mine again.

“Cu…Cullen?”  Her voice was breathy, and her eyes were already losing focus.  I smiled, and breathed in her ear as she tried to continue.  “Shouldn’t we…go…somewhere…?”

“Mmm…perhaps you’re right.”  I backed her up, tightened my hands on her waist, and lifted her until she was just sitting on the dock, her legs around my ribs.  I kissed hers, then the stretch marks, then lower, listening to her moan as my tongue darted.  After moments, or an eternity, I felt her hips buck, smiled as I looked up at her, amber skin warmed by the setting sun, hair streaming down, head tipped back in pleasure.  “Maker, you’re beautiful.”  I looked at the lines of her, more rounded than before, but still  _ her,  _ still my love, my wife.  “Slide back,” I asked, my voice husky.

As she pulled herself further onto the dock, I grabbed it with both hands, levering myself high enough to get a knee onto the sun-warmed boards, and noticed her watching.  “Yes?”

“I love looking at you, watching you move,” she said softly, and gave a wicked half-smile.  “Which you know perfectly well.”

I chuckled.  “Perhaps.”  She’d moved far enough, the time-smoothed boards under her back, for me to so-carefully rest against her, hear her moan as I flexed my hips.

She wrapped her thighs around my waist as her fingers dug against my shoulder.  “More,” she breathed.  “Please, Cullen.”

So tempting, but I kept things gentle, resting on my elbows, kissing her full lips, her eyelids, her throat.  I loved watching her lose herself in pleasure, the taste of her, the scent of her, lavender and woodsmoke and pine, even now.  Finally she crested, arching her back and taking me with her.  I kissed her lazily as we both came back down.

“Oh.”  Just more than a sigh, and I kissed her neck in response, her pulse beginning to slow under my lips.

“We should probably get back to the House before my beloved sister comes looking for us.”

Fey chuckled back, voice still low and throaty.  “Probably.  Besides, Little Mia should be waking soon, and will need her supper.”

I moved to the side, slipped back into the lake, and helped Fey in as well, so we could rinse off and wade over to our clothes.  When I glanced back up at Father Pine, the sentry was very carefully looking in a different direction.  I chuckled and used my shirt to dry us off enough to get dressed.  I looked at it, shrugged, and tucked it in my swordbelt, again.  This time, I knew it wouldn’t shock my siblings.  I tucked her hand into my arm, and we walked up the hill together.

As the house came into view, she glanced at me from the corner of her eye.  “You never sent word, other than you were there.  What happened?”

I rubbed my face with my free hand, ran it through my hair.  “Just the Revered Mother causing trouble, I think.”  I sighed.  “The usual ‘Against the Will of Andraste’ rhetoric we’ve heard whispered since Cassandra allowed and encouraged the Colleges as another option for mage training.  But this time, it was public, and in the Chantry itself.”

“That – doesn’t seem in line with Cassandra’s dictates as Divine.”

“It’s not.  She’s still there, one of the later appointments of Divine Beatrix, twenty years ago.  Of course, she did live through the disaster at Redcliffe, when the Arl’s son was an untrained mage and wound up possessed…and raising the dead.”

Fey sighed.  “I’d heard that story, while at Haven.  Connor died during the war with Corypheus, didn’t he.”

“Yes.  The boy always blamed himself, even though it was yet another plot of the traitor Loghain, from what Alissa told me once.  Something that is somehow left out of many of the stories.”

She shook herself.  “Either way, the Revered Mother stepped beyond where she should have.  How did you calm things?”  She gave a half-smile.  “This isn’t really a situation where your troops can solve problems.”

I rolled my eyes back at her.  “Maker’s breath, I’d like to think I have gotten a  _ bit _ more diplomatic over the years.  Of  _ course  _ troops – or even just my escort – would have made things worse.  It would have decided minds that weren’t sure she was right.”  She nodded as I continued.  “No, I found out the details from the Templars supporting the College as well as the…Headmaster, I think he called himself?  After that, there were enough events and such for me to discreetly show my faith in the Headmaster and his Templars…as well as dance attendance on the Sisters and Brother who were clearly uncomfortable with how strident the Revered Mother had gotten.  She took offense – likely helped by the fortified wine – and made a fool of herself in front of the Arl and his wife.”  I didn’t mention the fact the servant who served her had a red scarf on - if Sera had ‘suggested’ help, it was a great deal more subtle - and helpful, than her usual.

I had to stop a moment and brace us, she started laughing so hard.  “Oh…oh, Cullen!  I wish I’d been there!”

“As much as I love you, once your temper flares, you…don’t have much discretion.  And she was rather extreme and insulting.”  I brushed her cheek.  “Redcliffe is probably better off as things came out, much as I would have personally preferred to watch you deal with her.”

She wrinkled her nose, but eventually nodded.  “Fair enough.”  After another few steps, she turned one last time.  “Anything else I should know before we’re back to the house and among family?”

“Just how much I missed you?”

She chuckled, low and soft.  “I think you made that clear at the lake.”

I shook my head with a half-smile.  “Oh, no.  That was…just a taste.”  I kissed her again, full and deep, as she moaned softly and melted against me, before I took the half-step back to give us both some space to cool down enough to be around everyone else.

“Oh, my.  Unfortunately, just a taste is about all I’m up for, right now.”  She shook her head, her eyes warm.  “Then let’s go in, and you can spend time with your daughter and siblings.  Bree’s down at the Home this afternoon, so it’s just us.”  She answered my unspoken question.  “Elim is out checking on the sentries until after dinner – with you and your escort coming back in, she was comfortable doing so now.”

Fey headed up with Ella, to change and feed Camilla.  That gave me a chance to grab my packs and toss everything dirty into a basket, to deal with in the morning.  Mia saw a flash of color among the black and white remainder.  “Cullen? What’s that?”

I dug out the rest of it.  “My formal uniform as Right Hand.  Well, one of them – I have a few, depending on how fancy the occasion is.”  I sighed, and rubbed my neck.  “That’s actually what most of this pack is – and most of what I had to wear, once I got near Redcliffe.  I need to make sure at least one set is clean, for when Cassandra arrives.”

“The black – ok, both you and Her Perfection are military, and the Seekers had used black.  But the green sash?”

Shit.  I didn’t want to explain this, but couldn’t see a way to get out of it.  At least Fey was upstairs.  “It’s…it was an idea Leliana and I came up with, when we designed the Inquisition’s formal uniforms.  A wide sash around the waist – easy place to tuck missives, a few coins, a dagger…but something that looks unthreatening.”  And hides the items as well.

“And the color, Cullen?”

I hesitated, and gave a sideways answer.  “It’s the same color the Breach had been, and a way to remind people of the Inquisition that Cassandra helped to establish.”  She kept looking at me.  Blast.  “Fine.  I worked with a dyer and Cassandra the days before we left Val Royeaux to come here, to make something that matched her eyes.”  I could feel myself flushing.  Foolish and romantic, Cassandra had said – but she’d drug out an artist to ‘meet’ Fey, and get the color just right as we worked the design.  And I was  _ not  _ going to tell my  _ sister, _ as much as I loved her, how intensely I needed that reminder of Fey, her strength and determination, as I took on the duties Cassandra dropped in my lap.

“Aaaouu”

A little sound, a little voice – Fey was bringing Camilla down.  Shadow’s tail thumped excitedly, but he stayed on the floor under the table.  “Cullen?  Can you please lay the quilt out underneath the table?”

Baffled, I did as she asked, gently pushing a grumpy Shadow out of the way.  It made sense when Fey knelt and laid Camilla on her back…and I noticed the cords with colorful fabrics, bells or carved shapes hanging from them, all tied to the underside of the wooden planks.  She squealed delightedly and started batting at them.  “Branson’s idea,” she said with a smile.  “Your nephew was full of them – and it meant he could work with Eli and the craftsmen in the morning, rather than help press the apples.  It’s apparently not as fun when you don’t get to eat them.”

My lips quirked at her tone of voice.  “No, it’s not.”  I pat the mabari, still frustrated.  “It’s time for dinner, dog.  Find your bowl.”  I looked at Mia.  “There is enough for him as well, I hope?”

She nodded.  “Greens from the garden, apples we saved from the press, a sharp cheese the Chargers had sent out, and one of the scouts took down a boar that Ella’s Rory said had gotten too close to the orchards for comfort.”  That meant Bull had also replied to Fey’s warning.  I made a note to ask her about it later.

Shadow stuck his head into the packs, emerging from one with his bowl in his mouth.  “Well done, boy.  Set it by the door, if you please.”  I reached over Mia’s head to get plates for the table.  “Should I fill a pitcher?”

She smiled at my being domestic.  “Please, but we’ll probably also open a bottle of wine.  You are home, after all, and still in one piece.”  She opened the door to the cellar.  “Go and get your mabari his supper.  The rest of the boar is to the right.”  Shadow whined.  “No, I didn’t cook enough for you tonight.  We’ll make it up to you tomorrow.”

When we sat to dinner, Branson peppered me with questions.  At least it let the other adults eat.  “You fought a duel, right?  And killed the bad people?”

I shook my head.  “No, Branson.  I talked with people, and listened.”

“But what about the bad person?  The one the Divine sent you to stop?  You’re a warrior, you killed him, right?”

I tried to figure out how to explain this to a five-year-old.  “There wasn’t a bad person, Branson.  Just a Revered Mother who was scared.”  He looked confused.  “What do you do when you get scared?  Do you sometimes shout, so it doesn’t feel so scary?”  I smiled a bit.  “I know your Uncle Eli used to.”  He thought, then nodded.  “Well, she was scared, and so she tried to shout at what scared her: people using magic.  These past years – a lot of people got scared.  What would have happened if I had tried to fight her, or killed her?”

His little eyebrows got close together.  “It…would have scared other people?  Because you’re not supposed to hurt a Mother.”

I nodded.  “So that would have made things worse.  Plus, she wasn’t bad.  If we killed everyone who got scared, that would not make things better.  We need to help people.”

He changed topics.  “But that’s not what you did for the Inquisition!  You led the army!  You fought battles…even in Val Royeaux.  Old Tam said you showed them their place and beat them down like they deserved!”

Ella’s mouth tightened.  This…this had to be dealt with.  I took another bite of my greens to give myself time to think.  “Yes, I was the Commander of the Inquisition, and that meant fighting some battles.  But when you do that, people die.  Good people.  So part of Safeyya’s job was to make sure we didn’t need to fight very often.  And in Orlais, I didn’t beat the nobles.”

“You stopped everything, because Orlais was trying to tell you what to do!”

Fey and I shared a glance.  “Yes, I did.  And I did that because I was scared.”  He looked at me, disbelieving.  “Fey was hurting, and I couldn’t help her.  Plus, both Arl Teagan and Duke Cyril were scared, and wanted to make the Inquisition fit what they wanted.  That made me angry, and when someone is scared and angry, they can make bad choices.”  I sighed.  “I needed to have my troops do something, because…there were a lot of people who were very nervous, and most of them had swords.  But I overreacted.  And that made Lady Montiliyet’s job harder.  She was the diplomat, the person who tried to calm everyone down.  When I brought in the soldiers, it ruined her work and frightened everyone again.”  Fey looked down, and ate some more of her dinner to distract herself.  “I thought I was keeping Fey safe, but what I really did was make her choices harder.  They had to do a lot more work to make everything come out right.”

Branson just shook his head, and kept eating.  Rory gave me a nod of thanks, and I went back to the stew they’d put together with the boar meat.

After dinner, Ella and Fey took Branson and Camilla up to bed.  Rory, Mia, Eli and I sat around the table, and Rory opened another bottle of wine.  “Thanks, Cul.”  Eli nodded his thanks as well - he had gotten quiet over the years.  Mia said it was after his wife’s passing.  “Branson’s been after me to let him train, wants to be like you.”

I shook my head in disbelief.  Much like my nephew earlier.  “Andraste’s ashes, why?”

Eli stepped in.  “He doesn’t see the scars, inside or out.  He just hears the stories and imagines the adventure – you’re the exciting Uncle, who was there defending Kirkwall, who started the Inquisition…who’s the Right Hand of the Divine, the first man to ever hold that title.  A warrior, a leader, someone who is respected.”

The wine was good, rich and tart.  I pondered.  “You know,” I said slowly, “there may be something I can do.  I’d have to check with Bree, though, and clear it past Ella.”

Rory just looked at me as I leaned back.  “What?”

“The issue is that he thinks warriors are exciting, adventurous – and can’t see the rest, right?”  My brother nodded.  “Have him start drilling, every so often, at the Templar Home.  He’ll get weapons training – and I do think everyone needs that – but he will also see what a warrior’s life can lead to.”

Fey chimed in.  “That might work, Cullen.”  She accepted a glass of well-watered wine with a sigh.  “You were going over tomorrow morning, right?”

I couldn’t help but smile at her, especially as she sat in my lap rather than an open chair.  My free hand snaked around her waist.  Eli rolled his eyes, but there was a smile lurking at the corner of his mouth, too.  “Unless I’m needed for something here, yes.”  A glance at Rory.  “That will also let me see if she’d welcome a little one training with them.”  He nodded slightly.  That much, he was comfortable with before talking with Ella.  “I wanted to check on them and talk with Bree to make sure everything was ready for Cassandra’s arrival.  That should give me most of the afternoon to deal with anything here, and help with the construction.”

“Did you have a look when you went down to the lake?”  Mia’s question was innocent, I was sure of it.  That didn’t change the fact I started to flush again, and Fey carefully refused to look at me: a challenge, given where she was sitting.

“Ah…no, I didn’t.  I must have come at the wrong angle – I was mostly concerned about at least rinsing off, after so many days in the saddle.”  I took another sip of wine, just to have something to do as Fey had a brief choking fit.

Eli, bless him, was excited enough to start talking about it.  “It’s coming along well.  Frame’s up, much of the walls are, too.  The planks that came in were almost perfect.  The second floor is framed, at least.  We’re working on that, and we have the slate ready for the roof.”  He gave me a challenging look I remembered from when we were boys.  “You still have a head for heights?”

“I spent three years living on a mountain, Eli.”  I laughed.  “Yes, I have a head for heights.”

He nodded.  “Then so long as Her Perfection doesn’t send you off again too soon, we’ll have the house itself done in another week.  Your Templars’ve been a help.  The inside will take longer, but you should be able to move in before the first snow.”

“That’s impressive, given how long it took to find someone to fill the order while dealing with everything else in Redcliffe.  Thank you.  This means a great deal to us.”

He shrugged, but I could see he was pleased.  “You two will still need to pick out furnishings for everything.  I’ve learned from Mia that it’s not a skill of mine.”

“Horses, yes.  Colors and fabric?  Not so much.”  Mia smiled.  “It’s alright, Eli, we all have different skills.”  He just shrugged again, and finished his glass.  “I should turn in.  We’ll be up early.”

A kiss on Fey’s neck, and then I finished mine as well.  “Good point, especially if I join the Templars on their dawn run.”  I set it down, lifted Fey and set her back on the chair after I stood.  I looked at Rory again.  “I won’t stand in Branson’s way if he wishes a warrior’s path, but he’s much too young for it to be more than hero-worship.  That, I may be able to deal with.”

Rory nodded.  “That’s fair, Cul, and all I wanted to ask for.   _ We  _ know the rest, but Mia’s been out of that business since long before he was born.  He doesn’t see her that way.”  He smiled.  “Thank you.”

A brief smile, and a bow, just to watch my sister get flustered.  “Ladies.”

Fey’s lips twitched, but she nodded in return, just as she had at Skyhold when we’d had to be official.  “I’ll be up soon.  Be quiet – Camilla’s a light sleeper.”  I nodded, and toed my boots off before going up the stairs.

I was only half-asleep when Fey slipped into our bed, and opened an arm so she could tuck herself against my side.  With a sigh, I drifted off, everything right in the world for the moment.


	5. Making a Home

Camilla woke, hungry.  “Can you change her and bring her over, dear?”

I blinked as Shadow poked me with his nose.  Wet and cold, but I’d gotten used to it.  “Of course.”  I lit a candle, cleaned her up, and brought her to the bed.  “On your side again?”

“Please.”  She yawned.  “Can you tell what time it is?”

Dark.  That wasn’t a good answer, though, and I knew it.  I stepped over to the window and looked for the moons through the thin haze of clouds.  Only Satina was visible, a crescent over the trees.  “It’s…an hour til dawn, or so.  I should just head to the Templar Home.”

She yawned again.  “Well, after this, Camilla’s likely to go back to sleep for another hour or two.  If you can wait, I’ll come join you.”

“Are you up to an endurance run?”

I heard a sigh.  “Probably not the whole thing, but it’s the Farm, Cullen.  I can drop out and head back here if I need to.  There are plenty of sentries out, so I’d have an escort even.”  She chuckled.  “My dear, if you’ve accepted weapons drill, and given yesterday at the lake…I think I’m fine running.”

I had to give her that.  “Very well.  I know better than to try stop you once your mind is made up.”  I still walked over and kissed her hair.  “But please be careful how hard you push yourself.”

I walked to the chest, and pulled out clothes, started dressing.  I had a brief search for my boots before remembering I left them downstairs last night.  “Should I let you pick out your own things?”

“That’s for the best.  While she’s finishing up, can you knock on Elim’s door, so she knows I’ll be joining you?”

After Elim gave a sleepy acknowledgment, I headed back to put Camilla into her crib again.  “Shadow?”  I said quietly.  “Are you coming for a run?”

A wuff of agreement.

“We’ll be downstairs, Fey.”

She joined us shortly, a cross look on her face.  “Damned hair.”

“Come here.”  She pulled a chair so it was facing mine, then sat and rested her stump and forearm on the back.  I couldn’t help but notice, as I hadn’t yesterday, how much she’d already slimmed back down.  I gathered her hair in my hands, then started running a brush through the silky weight.  She sighed and rested her chin on the chair as well.  “Would you like a braid?”

“Please.”  I worked my fingers into it, and started plaiting it back.  My voice stayed quiet, but amused.  “I wonder what the people would think, the Right Hand of the Divine putting up his wife’s hair.”

She purred, I swear.  “That you are a loving and wonderful husband.”

I pulled her back and leaned forward to kiss her neck.  “Which I am, of course.”  She chuckled, and I tied it off.  “There.  Now I can be the Right Hand, and we can go for our run.  You have your knives?”

“Do I have boots?”  I chuckled at her tart tone.  “Of course I have knives.  And my wrist-sheath.”

**

We got to the Templar Home a few minutes early, which let me drop my sword in Bree’s office.  Most of the recovering Templars were out; yawning, stretching and wondering out loud why they were crazy enough to do this.  Unless they were the ones who had already been woken up by their nightmares.  They still complained, but you could see they were eager to move.  I scanned faces: about half and half.  None showed signs of the desperation I saw when I first came.  Karsten and Fatima both nodded to me, which I returned.

When Bree came out of her room, still yawning, everyone hushed and focused.  Good, she’d gotten their respect.  “Alright, let’s move.  Six miles – the sentries have set markers.  Around the field, past the stables, and then back along the lake.  Gentle pace today: the Divine arrives tomorrow, so expect a full inspection and presentation the day after.  Eli also said we need to get that roof up for the Commander today.”

I waited for the first set to get going behind Bree, then Fey and I joined in with Karsten and Fatima, Shadow running alongside the formation, in and out of the trees.  It wasn’t ideal – even among Templars, I was tall, but I had gotten used to shortening my stride for these exercises.  I kept an eye on the formation, and another on Fey.

We weaved through the land, following ribbons hung in trees.  Fey’s breathing got more labored, but so did a few of the Templars’ as we passed the second mile.  I had dropped into a comfortable lope, glad I’d kept up drilling while in Redcliffe.  After the third mile, and the farm, Fey dropped out of the group.  I followed her.  “How are you doing?”

“Fine.”  She was breathing hard, but that seemed to be all.  “Just…you’re right, I’m not up to the whole run yet.”

“It won’t take long, love.”  I brushed a stray hair back.  “Do you want me to come back with you?”

She shook her head.  “No.  If you stretch, you should be able to catch the formation.  I’ll assume you’re staying for drill, and will see you at lunch.”

I looked at the mabari, who’d stayed with us, confused.  “Shadow, stay with Fey back to the House.”  He barked and went to Fey’s left.  With a glance and a shooing gesture from her hand, I turned back to the path, and the run.

We got back, ate a light breakfast, and moved to stick drill.  Crisp, smooth, they stayed in tempo.  I stepped back as Karsten called a break, and then it was my turn to watch and call time.  “Good,”  I said as they finished.  “I’m impressed with your progress.  Who is helping with construction today?”  Most raised their hands.  I nodded.  “I will see you there.  Captain Bree?”

“Commander.  Nothing else this morning.  Break into your squads so we can get this yard looking presentable.”

I accepted the salutes, and moved with Bree back to her office.  In a quieter voice, I continued.  “They are looking much better.”

“You’re right, Ser.  We lost Pieoter, but he had struggled from the beginning according to Rylen.  Apparently had several periods where his Knight-Captain punished him by reduced lyrium – I don’t pretend to understand, but Rylen said it made him more susceptible to the madness.”

“I could see that.  It was a punishment that Meredith thankfully avoided.  It seemed cruel, and for no purpose.”  I belted on my sword.  “Is there anything you need?”

“No, Commander.  I will be over to the House for lunch – I want to make sure the squads are good, and that the retired Templars don’t have any needs, before I do.  Othrian is here this week along with the healer, so everything should stay under control.”

The walk gave me time to cool down and I appreciated the quiet.  Once I got back to the House, it would be chaos and cleaning and preparations to get our roof up – a house for Fey and I.  I hurried my steps at the thought, and chuckled.  Perhaps Eli would like to show me what he’d gotten done so far – or perhaps I could spend this precious time with Camilla, who had already grown so much.

**

The house looked…unfinished, but promising.  “Where do you need me, Eli?”  I had a pouch full of nails on my belt, and a hammer tucked into the back.

Eli pointed at the ladder.  “Up to the frame.  Ella will join you, as soon as she has everything set for the fields.  Start from the bottom, work your way up.  Stay on the thick braces – the others are just for the slates.  Make sure they overlap past where you nail them in.”

I nodded, and looked at the frame.  “I’ll need someone standing by with the slates, at least until we have a full section in.”

“I can, Ser.”  Fatima’s voice came from the other side of the house.  “So long as there’s a second ladder, Ser Rutherford.”

“Eli, Fatima.  I’m no nobility, to be Ser’d around.”  She gave a faint smile at his grumping, but moved the ladder he pointed at.

It felt good, working on the house.  Building something.  I’d said it to Bree, but it was as true for any other warrior.  And best of all, this was for my family, our home unless I needed to be in Orlais.  The first tiles were challenging, but then I got the rhythm of holding the slate and nail with one hand to hammer it in, then quickly move to set the second.  Once the first few rows were up, I climbed higher, one foot on the ladder and the other on the frame of the house itself.  I heard pounding as Ella started work on the other side, another Templar acting as assistant.  The others were bustling around; mixing plaster, checking the planks that had gone up on the sides, weaving the interior walls.

_ “Break!”  _  Mia’s voice rang out, and work stopped as quickly as a task could be finished.  I dared another few slates – the section was almost complete.  “Cullen, damn your hide, get off of that roof!  Break, I said.”

The chuckles were worth it, as was Fey’s face: she, Camilla and Shadow were between the new house and the lake, playing in the lovely weather.  Ella came around, and nodded when she saw what I’d completed – even threw her arm over my shoulders.  “Not bad, little brother.”

“Ella, I outgrew you years ago – and Mia even before I left for the Templars.”

She laughed.  “An inch and a half doesn’t count, and Mia’s the runt as well as ruler of the family.”  She ignored Mia’s sputtered threats from years of practice.  We all knew she didn’t mean anything by them.  “You’re still the baby – but it’s clear you’ve learned some things.  You two are only a section behind.  If you can pick up the pace, we’ll be done before dinner.”

I checked the sun, looked at the house, and decided she might be right – but it would be a dark walk back.  “Of course, Ella.  But for now, I think Fey and Little Mia could use some company.  Fatima, fifteen minutes?”

“Can do, Ser.”

Fey smiled as I sat next to her.  “Building a house, coming to rest by your wife, baby and dog…such a domestic picture.”  Her voice was light and teasing, but we could both see the serious undertone.

I leaned back on the grass, tickling Camilla with a fallen leaf just to hear her giggle.  “I’m glad to have the chance to build something for a change, but…no, if this was my life, I’d go mad.  I have seen too much, worked too much.”  I looked around at the familiar, beloved land.  “This will always be a home, but it is not enough any longer.”

She just gazed at me with those beautiful eyes…sunlight through the leaves, a reminder of the Breach she’d closed when she saved us all, I could go on for hours if I was a poet.  Thank heavens I wasn’t.  “Cullen, love, I understand.  I adore Camilla, but…”

I nodded.  “But.”  The domestic life we tried to play at may have been a dream, but dreams rarely hold up in the light of day.  I stroked her cheekbone, let my hand drift down her throat.  “We’ll create our own family, our own life, Fey.  Eli and Mia knew when they met you that we’d never truly settle down.”  I paused.  “When they met us both.  Maker knows, I’m no longer the earnest boy who left, determined to make things right.”

“No, Cullen, you’re not.  You’re the determined man who’s finding ways to rebuild everything that matters.”  She kissed me, light and sweet.  “We are what our pasts and circumstances and the Maker himself have made us.  If we can heal the sky together, we’ll fix this, too.  But before that, you have to get back to work on our new Keep, and Branson promised he’d write out a list I dictated for what we need to furnish it.”

I had to smile at her.  “As you command, my lady.”


	6. The Divine

The morning the Divine was due to arrive was the first I had a chance to see what Fey had been up to while I was gone.  There were letters and books scattered across the wardrobe, window sill and small table by the bed.

“It all makes sense, Cullen.  Well, to me.”  She hadn’t gotten any neater since Skyhold, but I’d learned how to read the piles.

“So...over here is everything about the lyrium,” as I glanced at the wardrobe with a dog-eared book open to a mining diagram.  “And...the table is dealing with the Wardens?  That would leave the sill for the ‘Chantry’ business, since it’s responsible for both mages and Templars.”  She nodded, and I glanced permission before sorting the papers on the wardrobe.  Not much that I could understand immediately, though she’d started up a beautiful set of maps with locations marked in different colors.  “What is this?”

“Red are the sites we’ve found it rooted: green if it’s been removed, yellow if it’s contained, and circled in black if it’s just been cordoned off.”  She sounded frustrated.  “It feels like there should be a pattern there, but if so, I can’t see it.”

I looked again.  The sites in black were where Corypheus had kept large numbers of Red Templars, as we’d called his corruption of the Order: Therinfall, the cave/fortress on the Storm Coast, the Keep in Southern Orlais and the Temple of Dumat, close to the Hunterhorns.  Valamar, the cavern where Varric’s...friend had been researching and incidentally supporting Corypheus’ efforts.  Haven and the site of the Temple of Sacred Ashes, where Corypheus had destroyed the Conclave and started everything up.  For the others… “Didn’t we have a map of all the rifts you closed?  Is there any connection?”

She shook her head.  “I asked - the waxed overlay is what Captain Mornay sent of the rifts from the maps we’ve had to keep at Skyhold still.  It’s not complete - he had to reduce the size - and not quite exact, but very close.”

I slid it out and over - she was right.  But there was also the nagging sense there  _ should  _ be some sort of pattern.  I shook my head. “I think you can ignore the black sites - those can be explained by Corypheus taking deliberate action.  You can probably ignore all of Emprise de Leon - with Ishmael ‘gardening’ with it, that Orlesian province is a disaster, and won’t show what you’re looking for.  We may just need more information - it seems like you’ve just scratched the surface.”

I turned at the sudden silence.  “Scratched the surface - Andraste, Cullen, that’s it!”  She got excited.  “Not only are we still missing any information from the Marches - I should write to Mother...Grand Cleric...Deen and Varric for that - but we also only have what’s on the Surface.” She was almost tripping over her words, but she always spoke quickly when inspiration hit.  I met her eyes as I followed where she was going.

“The dwarves, and the Deep Roads.”

“Exactly.  We’ll have to hope the Kal-Sharok can help there.”  She thought.  “Or possibly Orzammar - I hadn’t written to them yet - or even the Wardens, since they have to keep aware of the darkspawn, and those seem to come from beneath the Deep Roads.”

“That makes sense.”  I left everything as it was - even Andraste herself couldn’t save the person who disturbed Fey’s ‘organization,’ as at least two messengers had discovered at Skyhold - and sat on the bed next to the table.  I recognized Bull’s angular handwriting on the top pages.

_‘Ari_ _Whatever Rose did, it royally pissed off the Order.  They’re acting more like an overturned beehive than the cold rationality their reputation gives them.  Or their reputation was bullshit.  Given how my contract holders are acting, it’s not normal.  They’re keeping us on another year, thanks to Krem’s sweet talking.  That’ll give me time to solidify my network out here._

__ _ Oh, heads up to Shok.  It looks like the Order here has been recruiting lots of Templars - and mostly the ones who didn’t come back to that Order.  A few of his runaways probably changed their armor for blue, and are out of his reach.’ _

It was easy enough to add names back in.  ‘Rose’ was what Alissa had chosen to be called - Bull didn’t know her well, and so just asked for something easy to remember, but that was personal enough an outsider wouldn’t guess.

“Maferath’s left toenail.  Of  _ course  _ some of the rogue Templars would seek a way to stay unaccountable for their actions.  And no one can go after a Warden for what he’d done before - or during.”   _ Damn  _ that rule and what it had done to Kirkwall.  At least Sabah had killed Anders, even if it was too late to stop the chaos.  And then I remembered the hell in her eyes when I was at her estate, and the broken wreck she’d tried to conceal at Skyhold, and felt pity for her again.  I couldn’t imagine it doing less to me, if I’d been the one to have to kill Alissa at Kinloch - and that was just a crush along with some level of respect for her determination.   _ Maker grant you the peace you sought and deserve, Champion.  None of us had been able to stop him, or Meredith, before it got to that point.   _

“Yes, but we don’t have anything to go off yet.”  She sighed.  “I’ll ask you to write up something to send to Alissa, to see if we can at least get a first-hand view from her or Alistair.  My handwriting is still illegible.  Why Solas’ benighted Orb had to stick the Anchor onto my good hand, I’ll never forgive.”

I clenched my jaw, then decided to go for humor.  “Fey, I was there when you realized what happened, and saw your stump.  ‘Knife-eared son of a whoring dog’ was the kindest thing you said about him.  I think you may have promised to personally tear off said ears if he didn’t give the hand back, as well.”

She gave a noisy sigh.  “Can you blame me?”

I shook my head.  “Not at all.  But going back to this - we will have to wait for Bull and Alissa to pass more information before anything can make sense.”

I went back to the map of the lyrium, and stared at it again, willing it to make sense.  It just sat there, and I shook my head.  “We should eat, dear, and enjoy some time with our daughter.”

“You’re right.  Plus, Sera sent a picture book she made for her.”

“Sera.  The grumpy, profane anarchist prankster Sera, right?”  I blinked.  “Is it safe to have open around children?”

Fey gave a silvery laugh.  “You two never did get along.  Yes, it is.”  She paused, embarrassed.  “I checked before I let anyone in the family see it.”

I heard the sentries’ whistles an hour before sundown, and knew Cassandra’s party had been sighted.  With a sigh, I pulled on the final touches to my formal uniform: sash, sword belt, bright silver crest, shined boots.  Fey gave a brief smile, having pulled out her own: in her case, also stark black, with a blood-red shirt underneath a sleeveless vest.  The full, gathered sleeves of the shirt let her hide her dagger, and tastefully covered the end of her stump...and the other sheath, specially designed for it, that I’d fastened first.  The overhand draw wasn’t ideal, but no one would expect a knife on a ‘useless’ arm.  Two hung from her belt, the ‘formal’ ones that were all that showed.  I’d already helped her put up her hair.  When we got outside, I couldn’t resist the gesture: I plucked a single flame-red leaf from the nearest maple, and tucked it behind one ear.  “You look stunning,” I whispered.

She gave me a look from those Breach-green eyes, flicked a glance at my matching sash, and smiled.  “I could say the same.”  She brushed a speck of nonexistent dirt from the crest of the Divine on my left breast.  “However, we do need to be formal for Cass’ escort.  And for poor Mia’s sake.”

I nodded with a smirk.  My sister had taken all of yesterday to drive the free staff into a frenzy of cleaning, organizing and cooking.  The Divine was coming, the head of the Chantry of Southern Thedas, and the House  _ would  _ be perfect for her arrival.  Eli had moved enough of his things to the stableloft – and Branson was joining him – to free up two rooms, and Rory and Ella had joined the farm staff in their separate cottages between the orchard and the fields.  Fey gave me a warning look.  “I have to be formal often enough, I know my part.”  I held out my arm, she rested her fingers on it, and we made our way to where the path to the House would end, just as we’d walked down the Great Hall in Skyhold so many times before.

Bree had organized my escort in pairs where the path came in, and called them to attention as the Divine’s party came into view.  I glanced at it: Cassandra, a Revered Mother, one of the lay Brothers she’d recently brought onto her staff, four of my- _ her  _ bodyguard…and one other.  Warden Nathaniel, if I wasn’t mistaken.  I could feel my eyes widen when she got close enough for me to notice the tiny wildflowers twined into the braid wrapped around her head, and I quickly reset to my ‘official’ face.

She raised her hand to stop her party, and the  _ Warden  _ was the one to swing down and hold her horse, offering a hand as she dismounted.  I felt Fey’s fingers tighten on my arm, and knew to save it for later.

She was right.  I dropped my elbow as I bowed and Fey nodded her head.  “Most Holy, welcome to Honnleath.”

She rolled her eyes where her Chantry following couldn’t see, but her voice stayed precise.  “Herald.  Commander.  Thank you for inviting us.  Now, where is my namesake?”

Fey smiled.  “Still in the family House, Your Perfection.”

“Enough of the formality.”  Her voice was severe, but her eyes twinkled…and looked sad.  Her time as Divine had been challenging for a woman who preferred direct solutions and close friendships.

Fey’s eyes softened as she looked back.  “Of course, Cass.  Though you’ll get a bit more from Mia.  She’s been all aflutter about your coming.”  She tucked her arm in the Divine’s and started leading her down to the House.  Which left me with the escort.

I tried to remember what Mia had said last night.  Three rooms, that’s right.  “Revered Mother, Brother – there are rooms for you at the House as well, so you are available for Most Holy.  I believe the Chantry also has guest space, if you would prefer.”  I turned to Bree.  “Please find space for the escort at the Templar Home, Captain.”

“Ser.”

The Warden interrupted a moment, his voice as raspy as I’d remembered.  “I will stay close to the Divine.”

I gave him a measuring look.  But in Val Royeaux, Cassandra had given him almost unfettered access – and he was Alissa’s second at Vigil’s Keep.  There was undoubtedly a reason…and it would let us discuss the message from Kal-Sharok.  “Very well.  We’ll find space.”  His lips twitched briefly, and he gave a slight nod.

The Revered Mother decided she wanted to stay at the Chantry: one of my escort volunteered to take her that way.  “It’s a bit of a ride, Revered Mother.  Would you prefer to go now or refresh yourself first?  The sun is fading.”

“Now, young man, thank you.  The Chantry will provide.”  Her accent was thick, but still understandable – and I knew Mother Giselle had recommended her, so she must be good at her duties.  I shrugged to myself.

“Thomas, please take the horses to the stable, and have the packs brought where they need to go.”  I looked at the mules, and then the Divine’s escort.  “Do you know which should go with the Revered Mother?”

“Yes, Commander.”

“Good.  Revered Mother, I’ll have your things sent to the Chantry once we have everything sorted.”  I flicked a glance at Denise, and she nodded at the unspoken order.

“Thank you, Commander.”

I nodded briefly – an appropriate, if technically unnecessary, respect, and saw her appreciation.  “Revered Mother.”  Whatever I had to do to support Cassandra, I reminded myself, and then looked back at the Warden.  “Please come with me: I’ll take you to the House.  Do you need anything from your packs?”

He slid his bow out of his saddle and re-seated the quiver on his back with a smooth motion that belied the silver streaking his hair.  “Nothing else, Commander.”  I gestured down the path the ladies had already gone, and he set out with a long stride.

“What brings you to Honnleath, Warden?”  We kept moving at a relaxed pace.

“The Divine, and your interactions with the Order in the Hunterhorns.”

I sighed.  “Yes, that.  I assume Cassandra has filled you in on the details?”

“What she had.  It sounded like there was more.”

A nod.  He was scanning our surroundings, I noticed.  “Worried about attack here?”

“No.  Your sentries are good – even I didn’t spot the archers in the trees until they whistled.  I’m more used to looking down than up.  Habit, I suppose.”

Arrogant – or that competent.  I looked at his bow again, and decided it was likely the latter.  Especially since Alissa…the Warden Commander…wouldn’t have put the Keep in his hands otherwise.  Trust only went so far, even with her.

“It will have to wait until later, or tomorrow.  We should hear from Captain Rylen in the next  few days – he will likely have an update for me.”

The dark-haired man nodded and caught a leaf as it fell, bringing it to his nose.  “Weather will shift soon.”

“Yes, but not to snow for another few weeks, according to the elders.  We’ll have time to get in the last of the harvest.”  We got to the House, and I waved him in.

Warmth, and family – and Cassandra, already with her feet up on the hearth and a tankard in her hand.  Still positioned so she could see the door, and her eyes lit up.  “So, he convinced you to let him come with, Cullen?”

I shrugged.  “There is plenty to discuss, and you’re clearly comfortable around him.”

Fey bit her lip as Cassandra ducked her head to take another drink, then she spoke.  “We’re informal here, I’ve already been ordered.  Come upstairs with me and get out of this getup?”

I chuckled.  “I wouldn’t mind shedding the jacket at least. It’s heavier than it looks.”  I glanced – yes, Camilla was happily under the table…but she’d grabbed Shadow’s ear.  I watched for a moment, but Shadow just huffed and inched a bit closer to the baby, even as she started chewing on it.  “Mia, please keep an eye on Camilla?”

She rolled her eyes and made a shooing gesture.  “They’re fine, Cullen.  Get changed, and we’ll have something for you two to eat as well.”

Fey carefully closed the door behind us before giving me a severe look as I started undoing the clasps on the jacket.  “Cullen, don’t tease Cass.”

I had to stop.  “What are you talking about?”

After a long pause, she covered her face with her hand, shaking, and sat on the bed.

“Fey?  Love?”  I thought back…I hadn’t said anything...and remembered the flowers.  And the way she looked away after I’d said…oh.  A few things from before Fey ended the Exalted Council fell into a different pattern.  “You don’t mean…and the Warden?”

Tears started to stream down her cheeks as she tried to keep from laughing.  At my face, no doubt.  “You didn’t know!  Oh, Andraste’s blessed…”  she shook her head, unable to continue.

I coughed, and choked down anything I had been about to say on how the Divine was supposed to remain pure.  Unmarried, the doctrine said – focused on the needs of the Chantry.  “Well.”  I tried again.  “I guess I don’t need to find an extra room for him.”

She fell back, helpless with giggles.  I just sighed, and went back to changing into something more casual.  Thank heavens – the formal boots still pinched.  “Let me know when you need help.”

By the time I was done, she’d sat back up and worked off her vest – the buttons were designed for her to manage one-handed.  She’d just started pulling the shirt off her stump when I heard a knock on the door.  “My Lady?”  The howls were also evident.  For such a small thing, our daughter had well-developed lungs.

I opened it, took Camilla from Elim, and handed her to Fey…who’d already leaned onto her side.  While the little one was eating, I knelt to take off her boots.

“Did you want to change pants as well?”

She chuckled.  “Even for you, dear, I think that will have to wait until she’s been fed.”

“Is that a challenge?”

“No!  Do you have any idea how much that could hurt?”  She rolled her eyes at my confused look.  “No, of course you don’t.  Wait, Cullen – it won’t take long.  Find me something else to wear?”

I pulled out a pair of pants, and then one of the shirts I’d gotten in Redcliffe, a deep sapphire blue.

“I don’t recognize that one.”  She blinked.  “Is my memory that bad?”

A shake of my head.  “No, I got this in Redcliffe.”  A free couple hours, between meeting with the Headmaster and the next formal event, stopping by the market…there was a seamstress with lovely fabrics in the jewel tones that made Fey glow.  Talking, and she smiled when I mentioned the baby, wanting to get something pretty for Fey…though I just said ‘my wife,’ the habit of protecting her too ingrained.  She said she had just the design for shirts that would be easy to wear, even with one arm – tears in her eyes, but Redcliffe had seen enough violence that she didn’t ask for more.  I picked them up two days later.  

“I hope you like it – the seamstress said every new mother deserved something beautiful, and that it was easy to still deal with the baby.”  The look in her eyes was worth every silver piece.  I ducked my head, then took my daughter when she smiled up at me.  “I’ll…I’ll head downstairs, now.”

Little Mia cooed and gave me a gap-mouthed smile when I tickled her chin, delighted at the attention.  Her eyes, so cloudy before I’d left, had begun to settle into a familiar hazel, a light color against her honey skin.  I held her against my chest as I made my way down, the tiny warmth so precious – and still so new.

The Brother had come in, but had gotten rid of the foolish hat and was discussing Chantry politics in the area.  Cassandra looked up, and her eyes got soft as she saw our daughter.  “So, this is my namesake?  I had not wanted to bother her while your mabari was on guard, and then she was – loud.”

I nodded.  “Camilla Cassandra.”

“Come closer, Cullen.  Let me see her!”  She set her tankard down on the table, and reached out a tentative hand.  “She’s so…little.”

The Warden…Nathaniel, I reminded myself, got a faint twinkle in his eye.  “Why don’t you hand her over, Commander?”

The panic in Cassandra’s eyes was priceless, but I could also see the wanting hidden underneath.  “Of course.  Here, just keep a hand behind her head.”

“What?  But I…”  Her hands, long-fingered and strong, caught her as she wiggled.  She freed one to touch Camilla’s face, and couldn’t repress a smile as she grabbed it, and tried to stuff it in her mouth.  “No, that is not something to eat.”  She looked up again.  “Does she need to eat?  I don’t know…I haven’t been near babies…”

I shook my head.  “No, Cassandra.  That was why she was howling earlier.  She just had a meal.  Go ahead and hold her up – she’s curious about everything.”

I heard both the Brother and Mia cough softly behind me as Cassandra began to get more comfortable.  I poured myself some cider and headed to an open chair.  It was the end of last years’ pressing, smooth and rich.  Watching the Seeker – the Divine – holding my little girl, her expression finally shifting to cautious delight, warmed me.  It was good to see her able to set aside her duties, if only for a moment.  I thought a caught a brief glimpse of regret in Nathaniel’s eyes, but it was gone before I could be certain.  And then, lost in smothered laughter as Cassandra brought Little Mia close, and she responded by spitting up all over the Seeker’s shirt.

I managed to keep from spitting out the cider I’d just drunk as her face changed from delight to shock.  Nathaniel grabbed one of the towels from the hearth – but instead of handing it to Cassandra, took the baby and held her up against his shoulder, patting her back with familiarity.  Mia finally started to relax, since it was hard to hold someone in awe when they were covered with regurgitated milk, and stood up.

“Let’s get you upstairs, so we can find a new shirt.”  Her lips quivered, but she had more self-control than the rest of us.  “Brother Munir brought everything in.”

That reminded me.  “Mia – please check the rooms.  Brother Munir should be in Eli’s, and Nathaniel’s things in Branson’s.  That gives Cassandra the largest.”

She didn’t bat an eye.  “Of course.  They just dropped everything into Rory’s until we had time to figure it out.”  She ushered Cassandra upstairs, promising there was water in the washroom and anything the Divine should need while she got everything moved around.

I turned back to the lay Brother who had come with.  “What were you saying about the Templars, Brother Munir?”

He smiled slightly.  “Munir is fine, Commander.  I had said there was still resistance from both sides regarding the Divine’s dictates to punish Templars, but only for actual breaks of Chantry law.”

“If Munir is enough, then so is Cullen.  This is my family’s house.”  He nodded, understanding.  “I dealt with some of that in Redcliffe.  The Headmaster wasn’t pleased.  But I explained that if we started punishing those who served the Chantry for what is now considered…” I looked for the right words again, “an excess of zeal rather than following the written dictates, that could only lead to more uncertainty and even harming those who followed orders that as best they could understand, were allowed.”

“Exactly, and well-put.  Knight-Commander Baris is working to gently retire those whose…zeal, as you said, is…difficult to restrain, but there are also many who were uneasy at the time but felt they had no other choice.”

Hiding a wince as those words cut far too close for comfort, I continued the conversation.  “The Headmaster said he’d no longer speak out against it, now that he better understood the line the Divine needed to walk.  Also, the assurance that such rashness would be more closely monitored helped.  He has three Templars at the College, to watch for blood magic and provide some level of Chantry oversight, but all three were very carefully selected.  It looked like a good working relationship, from the week I was there.”

“Excellent job!  The other side has been equally obstinate, though.  The members of the Chantry who feel that no Templar should be questioned and that  _ any  _ punishment is too extreme have caused no end of trouble, sheltering Templars who should face consequences for their actions.”

Fey came down, skin glowing against the loose, wrapped sapphire of the shirt.  Her shoulders were covered by the shawl-like sleeves the seamstress had designed, and she looked gorgeous.  “Munir?  From Ostwick, yes?  I thought I recognized you.  The years have treated you well.”

He smiled and stood.  “Young Lady Trevelyan!”

I saw the flicker of pain at that name.  “No longer, Brother Munir.  Just Safeyya Rutherford, now.”  Her voice was quiet, stayed even.

He blinked.  “They don’t know, do they?”

That question made me sit up.

“No, they don’t.  As far as my  _ dear parents _ ,” her voice etched in acid, “know, I vanished after I ended the Exalted Council.  Likely back to Skyhold, to puppetmaster or hide in shame, depending on their moods.  And that is all that will be known beyond here, Munir.”

The Brother stopped a moment – he’d clearly seen her moods before she’d left Ostwick, but they had equally clearly never been directed at him.  That’s why he forged on, his voice formal.  “Lady Trevelyan.  Knight-Lieutenant Stefanson Craig Magnus Trevelyan died two weeks ago.  You have been summoned back to Ostwick, for the family memorial, one month hence.”

She closed her eyes.  I ached, but knew I had to let her do this on her own.  When they opened again, she was adamant.  “No.  You unfortunately weren’t able to reach me.”  Her voice was steely: nothing could change her mind – but I could feel how shaky the precipice she stood on truly was.  I got up slowly, and moved to pour a glass of water.  I handed it to her, and pulled out a chair.  Thank goodness, Fey was willing to move jerkily, then take a drink.

I sat back in mine, and fished for a moment for the earlier conversation.  “Munir, you’d said there was a movement to protect Templars who broke Chantry law?”  My voice was quiet, but returned to the more ‘professional’ tone we’d had before.

He cleared his throat.  “Yes, actually.  There aren’t many, but they are frequently Grand Clerics and disgruntled Revered Mothers, those in place even before Divine Justinia’s reign.  Few, but still a powerful faction in opposition to the Divine.  We don’t know if their sheltering these Templars is an act of fanaticism, or a way to reduce her authority.  As best we can gather, there are only a half-dozen or so who have found such sanctuary, but it’s hard to tell.”

“That makes some sense.  Most of those would have been recruited by Lucius and become Red Templars for the strength – or have been among the rogues that were hunted down by Inquisition forces during the chaos.”

Fey stood mechanically, and wouldn’t meet anyone’s eyes.  “I’m going to walk for a bit.”  She slipped on boots, and left without another word.  

Nathaniel started to move, even with Little Mia still on his shoulder and grabbing his braided hair, but I held up a hand.  “Shadow.  Guard Fey.”  He snorted agreement, and trotted out after her just before the door closed.  She’d be safe even without an escort, given the layers of protection we’d built here, but…Shadow was a good compromise.  The mabari would give her the solitude she needed and ease everyone else’s tension.

That’s when Cassandra came back down.  “Cullen, your sister is insisting on moving everything around now…what’s wrong?”  It didn’t take her long to spot the tension.  “Your Shadow is gone?  I thought he didn’t leave your daughter’s side?”

Mia came down as Casandra moved toward her chair.

Nathaniel spoke first.  “Munir had news of a family death.  Safeyya left to compose herself.”

Cassandra put the pieces together – not hard since I was still in the room.  “I see.”  Her voice was hard.  “Is there a reason you didn’t share this news, and presumed communication, with your Divine, Brother Munir?”

He paled.  “I…it didn’t occur to me, Your Perfection.  It was a personal missive from Lady Trevelyan, a request to pass news to her daughter if I had heard word of her whereabouts.”

“Cassandra.”  She turned at my quiet voice.  “You knew, didn’t you.”  Mia’s head snapped over and Munir’s mouth dropped.

“I…yes.  Of course I knew: the sudden death of a Knight-Lieutenant, especially one wanted to face Chantry questioning for some of his actions?  He had returned to his post at the White Spire after the Order was restored: I heard almost immediately from Knight-Commander Baris.”

_ “How  _ did he die, Cassandra?”

“A fall from his horse.  He attempted a jump that was too much, and fell hard.”

Munir’s eyes got wide.  “The Trevelyans are all skilled horsemen!  I hadn’t heard that part – I can hardly believe it.”

I gave Cassandra a level look, and she shifted her eyes.  That left it to me to answer.  “Enough, Munir.  It’s always possible – there is a lot of spirit in the Trevelyan line, and it’s possible a challenge was too much for him.”  A plausible excuse, anyway – until I discovered what Cassandra knew, and I suspected.  “Either way, supper should be ready?”

Mia shook herself, and nodded, gathering dishes.  “It’s just a pie, tonight…chicken.  Of course, something different for Safeyya, so there’s also a lentil soup, and plenty of fresh greens, it’s almost the end of harvesttime but they’re still growing well.”

Nathaniel went along with the change of topic.  “I think your niece has fallen asleep.  Anything I can manage with one hand.”

“Do you need me to take her back?”  Little Mia was out completely, drooling down the towel he’d put on his shoulder first.  I smiled foolishly at the sight.

“No.  My sister has four, now – I’ve been an uncle to all of them.”  He smiled slightly.  “The oldest is nine, and she’s determined to follow my wandering footsteps.”

“As a Warden?”

“No.”  He shrugged his free shoulder and nodded thanks to Mia as she brought him a plate and fork.  “You see, there is no Blight, so they’re not recruiting.”

“Well done, Warden.”  His humor was as subtle as the rest of him; something I could appreciate.  I slipped on my boots before filling a plate for myself.  “I’ll be outside.”  Too many whipsawing emotions.

With the sun down, the air was turning crisp – Nathaniel was right, it felt like the false summer we’d been enjoying was over.  Not enough to go back in and get a cloak, though.  It was just enough to be a pleasant contrast to the warmth inside the House.  I watched first moonrise peek between the trees, and leaned against the corner, out of sight of the windows.  I took a bite of the pie – definitely Ella’s cooking, the seasoning was perfect.  And sighed.

Cassandra came out not long after, with a plate of her own and a full tankard.  “Here.”

I balanced my fork and took a drink as she found a matching position against the wall, ankles crossed, close enough to pass the cider back and forth, far enough for solitude.  We’d had many nights like this: at Haven, at Skyhold.  Even in Val Royeaux, after Fey had started healing.

“It was Leliana, wasn’t it.”  Not even a question, not really.  I knew the Inquisition’s former spymaster and her ruthless signature.  But I had to ask, had to hear it spoken.  Quiet, as all our conversations alone in the dark had been, over the long years.  We’d discovered that solitude together helped, allowed us to drop some of the barriers we’d both learned to raise.

I heard her sigh heavily.  “I did not want to ask, and find out for certain.  Likely, certainly.”  She took a bite, then the tankard when I offered it back to her.  “He was one of Alrik’s protégés or contemporaries, I don’t remember which, but smart enough to stay just inside Chantry law.”

The darkness hid my wince.  I remembered Alrik, his cruelty…my uncomfortable gratitude when Sabah had killed him.  The investigation Meredith ordered, then quickly closed as the details started coming forward, as the younger Templars began to look sick and appreciative he was gone.  ‘A tragic accident’ was the official finding.  Tragically, accidentally stabbed seventeen times, and still smoking when we’d found him.

“I remember Alrik.”

“And the fact the Seekers saw no reason to re-open an obviously falsified investigation should have told you something.”

_ It did tell me something.  It watered those seeds of doubt, of horror…but they didn’t sprout quickly enough to save what I’d been sworn to protect.  _ I pulled my mind from that long-worn track.  “Yes, it did.  So this Stefan?”

“He is...was...your brother-in-law, yes?  Surely you have heard of him from Safeyya.”

“You know she doesn’t speak of her family, even to me.  Besides, Stefan would have left Ostwick something near eighteen years before Fey did, when you count training time before his vows.”

There was a pause, then she continued.  “The same as Alrik, but clever.  As best we could tell, he would terrorize the mages and even younger Templars.  Failed Harrowings and requests for Tranquility went up.”

_ ‘Stefan.  The look in his eyes, the bruises he’d leave where they wouldn’t show… He took Rodie away, did you know?’   _ The hopeless, helpless way she’d told him that, when Dorian’s horror spell had actually worked on her.  Her dead, detached voice.  The last time I’d ever heard his name, though I’d told it to Leliana shortly after.  I set my fork on my plate again, suddenly having a hard time eating, and ran my free hand through my hair.

Cassandra glanced over and passed the tankard.  “Drink, Cullen.”

A long moment, and a long drink later, I spoke.  “At least he is dead, and can harm no one else.”  She ate quietly while I pondered the evening, the memories.  While I tried to step away from the horror of what Fey had gone through, and her failing to protect…Rodie.

“Rodie,” I breathed.  “Maferath’s balls, I never thought to mention him.”

“Who?”  Cassandra choked slightly, then swallowed the last bite.

How to answer without breaking a confidence….  But this was important to her, had been important enough to risk her brother’s wrath as a young woman.  “Rodie.  Once, Fey mentioned a Rodie that she protected from Stefan, who took him away.  Probably a mage, likely went to White Spire at first.  I assume a shortened form of his name, but it’s all I have.  Given how she spoke of him, a cousin or brother.”  I sighed.  “I was told in confidence, Cassandra.”  I took another drink as she ate and thought, then noticed how little was left.  I handed it back to her, and worked more on my dinner.

“I understand.  Inquiries and research will be discreet.”

“It won’t change the fact I broke her confidence, but I appreciate it.”  Tipped my head back to look at the stars, starting to shine through.  Time to find a different topic, especially since the cider was a fair bit stronger than I’d realized before I’d started moving my head.  “You...and Nathaniel?”

A disgusted noise.  I quirked my lips, remembering how many times I had heard that sound over the years.

“You deserve happiness, Cassandra.  I’ll say nothing more.”

“It is not that easy, Cullen.  He…and I…yes.  And expect no more on  _ that.  _  But for the rest, it is challenging.  I have so many duties to the Chantry, to the Seekers…and he has his own.”

I saw movement: it was Fey, Shadow at her heels, coming back.  Her stride was long and easy, so she had worked through most of it.  She didn’t see us, just opened the door and went in.  That, or she was hungry, or was giving us space to talk.  Cassandra glanced over, drank again as she saw I wasn’t moving.  We stood in silence longer, as Cassandra set the now-empty tankard at her feet so she could finish her meal.

“Yes, duty.  It drives us both, doesn’t it, Seeker?”  We sighed in unison.

“Do you regret that you accepted the position as Right Hand, and all that comes with it?”

I raised an unseen eyebrow, not expecting the question.  But in these talks, the unspoken rule was honesty.  “Do you regret accepting the title of Divine Victoria, and all that comes with it?  At times, certainly.  It has been hard, with Fey pregnant and now Camilla.  But I cannot think of anyone else who could have stopped the chaos in the Hunterfells for you.  No one else would have had the connections you needed.  And I doubt either she or I could settle into a quiet retirement.”  I sighed again.  “Besides, you took a more challenging set of responsibilities.  After all you had done for me, how could I abandon you when you asked?”

This time she made a sound I couldn’t recognize, quickly cut off.  I pushed off the wall and took a step closer, to where I could see her eyes in the moonlight, but she looked away.  I did something I’d never done – I reached out, touched her chin, gently turned her face back to me…and what I saw punched me in the gut.  I closed my eyes.   _ Shit.  Blast it all, I had no idea, never realized… _  When I opened mine again, I saw the warning that flared in hers.

Neither of us were sober enough for this – which is perhaps why it happened, why she failed to hide it this time.  I searched inside, and found what I always had: friendship, respect…even love, for a sister, a shield-partner.  And that was in her eyes, too – but with something more.  I was still holding her chin, so I leaned forward and kissed her cheek.  “I wouldn’t abandon you now, Seeker.  We fixed a hole in the sky – we can fix the Chantry and the Order.”  I carefully leaned down to pick up the tankard, and headed back inside.

Just before I walked in, I heard a last whisper from against the dark wall.  “We have to, my friend.  And thank you.”  She’d never have to say for what.


	7. Secrets

The next morning, Fey and I got back from the run – a shorter one, and I stayed with her this time – to find Cassandra and Nathaniel out in the dawn light, sitting and talking by the lake.  Her head was resting on his shoulder, his arm around her hip.  I smiled at Fey, twined my fingers in hers and pulled her toward them, swinging widely enough they would see us before we could hear them.  When Nathaniel’s head turned to face us, I raised my free hand casually, and he relaxed – the moment I realized he’d tensed in the first place.

“Is there room on the cloak for two more?”  Fey kept her voice low, not wanting to spoil the quiet morning.  “There’s – a lot we need to deal with, regarding the Wardens.”

I nodded.  “And the Kal-Sharok message…and for Cassandra especially, the oddities that are popping up with the Templars.”

They shifted over and Nathaniel spread it out more.  It was tight, but at least none of us would get soaked.  Fey had to sit in a corner, her legs draped over my lap, but I didn’t mind – and it didn’t seem to bother the other two.  More than that, from the way the two looked at each other, and at me - whatever Cass felt about our relationship may have included some regret, but not much.  Good.

“You had said in your message something about dwarves and Wardens, but that you would rather explain in-person.”  Cassandra’s voice was questioning.

I went through the same details I’d given Fey, and she added her input.  “And what I’d really like, Nathaniel, is your take on the Wardens.  Why would they force conscription now of all times, and why would they react so strongly to the Kal-Sharok?  Beyond that, what happened at Weisshaupt with Alissa?”

He looked over at Cassandra, and she gave a brief nod.  Then he turned back.  “The trip to Weisshaupt almost killed the Warden-Commander – or worse.  There were some of the High Wardens who openly talked about the Rite of Tranquility.”

I stiffened and felt Fey do the same.  “Tranquil?”  My voice was disbelieving.  “Why?  She’s Harrowed, and no Chantry law would require such a thing short of blood magic…even if the Wardens knew how!”

“There are Templars in the Wardens, just as there are mages.”  He nodded, thinking back to what I had passed on from Bull’s report.  “I had expected some of your ‘troublesome’ Templars to seek refuge there if the Grand Clerics fail them, and have already warned Cassandra.  Adamant and Vigil’s Keep will take no Templars without approval from the nearest Knight-Commander, so you don’t have to be concerned about us.  But yes - Templars are well-trained, devout, willing to follow orders...and their abilities still work against the darkspawn who can use magic, so are prized recruits.  At least one of those I’ve met was a Knight-Captain, so knows the process.  She got out, and got Warden Alistair as well – but when she said she won the independence of the Orlesian and Ferelden Wardens, what she really did was get them tossed from the Order.”  He sighed.  “In theory, the others shouldn’t have entered Orlais at all, but…”  A shrug before he continued.

“As far as why…between the Fifth Blight she and Alistair ended, our involvement up at Kirkwall...her journey to a land with no Blights....  That’s why they held Alistair, when he told them about what happened at Adamant.  A Tranquil won’t argue, it just answers questions.”

I shivered.  Shadows of Alrik were everywhere, it seemed.  There was more Nathaniel hadn’t said, but that was equally true on my part.  I had to trust, for now, that he had shared what was relevant.  “So they were going to make Alissa Tranquil because…Alistair refused to answer their questions, even as they held him captive for…what, two years?”  I could hardly imagine what that would do to a man, or to his wife who had come to free him.  “How did she win free?”

Nathaniel thought before he answered slowly.  “A bluff.  I…I’m sorry, but even here I can’t go into more detail without her permission.  She is my Commander.”

Fey nodded.  “For now, then.  I planned to write and ask for more information anyway.  But the Kal-Sharok dwarves: do you know why they would have drawn such a strong reaction?  We may need that information, because the Kal-Sharok have asked for our…my…help.”

“Why?”  Cassandra’s question was simple, but not easy.

She thought a moment before answering, running her hand over Shadow, who’d laid down next to her.  “A few reasons, I think.  First, because we helped them – or at least worked with them – while the Inquisition was still under my command.  Secondly, because I know about the Magisters, and we think I managed to kill Corypheus.”

As she pondered, I joined in.  “Third, because the Orlesian Wardens owe a debt to the Inquisition – and Safeyya personally.  It means we have a force of blight-immune warriors available.”  Both Nathaniel and Cassandra nodded slowly.

“And now, Commander, Herald – you have two.”  The Warden used the titles deliberately.  “But the Order at Weisshaupt knows about the Kal-Sharok, and something made them uneasy and defensive.  Meaning something about them touched on Warden secrets – or what Weisshaupt sees as Warden secrets.”

Cassandra had been thinking.  “With what has happened at Adamant, and now Weisshaupt – do the Southern Wardens have any ability to bring in new members?  The…what did you call it, Joining?”

Nathaniel tightened his lips, but answered her.  “Yes.  We have one who knows the ritual, and he has been teaching others.  But Alissa decreed that the Joining would not be conducted unless at need: the vows are still spoken, but that is all.  I believe Warden-Commander Deanne is following the same process.”

Fey and I looked at each other, but neither of us asked for more.  Eventually, Cassandra sighed.  “What did you respond to the dwarves?”

Fey blinked.  “That we would help, of course.  If it’s Blight in the Stone, our best guess was that it was tied to the red lyrium the Southern Wardens are trying to help us contain and eliminate.  If not, it’s still something we need to deal with, and we have the knowledge to do so.”  She looked away.  “I also don’t know if this is tied to that ‘world-ending weapon’ Solas had spoken of when he took my arm, but we can’t risk it if it is.  And if not, it gives us allies he knows nothing about.”

I looked at her.  “Nathaniel needs one of the rings, I think.”

After a long glance, she nodded.  “You’re right.  Nathaniel, we’ll explain before you go.  It’s a way to keep messages private, among other things.”

He nodded in return.

“Cassandra, are you still going straight to your Seekers after this?”

“Yes.  And they are rebuilding…in the Hunterhorns as well, actually.  I can hopefully hear from Captain Rylen while I am there.  Speaking of the Seekers, are any of your former Templars likely candidates, Cullen?”

This was a thorny question.  “Two or three at least, but I would rather not release them until they’re through the withdrawal itself.  About half have overcome the constant nightmares, but I would need to speak with them individually.  You can at least meet all of them when we go over today.”

“If you are certain, Cullen?”

I thought back to those months, shaking and pacing through the night.  “Yes, Seeker, I am.  If I had not had your support and the fact I survived Kinloch’s fall, I would not have made it through withdrawal as Commander.  I have to assume Seeker training will also be rigorous.”  My hand tightened on Fey’s leg, but she already knew the strength she’d been for me.  The years of conversations in the dark when my nightmares would wake us both up, as our different demons drove us.

“Either way, it’s time for us to head back into the House and get cleaned up for the day.  Cassandra, the former Templars are expecting an inspection, but they also know you as the warrior who created the Inquisition, the former Right Hand.  You have a fair bit of discretion in how you want to handle it.”

I could see dawning comprehension on Cassandra’s face as I changed topics.  “You…don’t want your family to know about the lyrium, the Wardens.”

I sighed.  “No, we don’t want my family to know.  Mia especially has been a help, and I trust her good sense – but I will not bring that danger on them if I can help it.  Especially if Weisshaupt has corrupted to that degree.  I know Wardens need to have the ability to do what it takes to stop a Blight from killing the very land around us, but this is something else entirely, even before what Nathaniel told us.  And if the Kal-Sharok dwarves are asking for help against the Blight…”

Fey looked up at me, and finished “then we may all have to leave Honnleath, and find somewhere else.  But everywhere has its own dangers, and this has the advantage of isolation.  I don’t think we’ve reached that point yet, Cullen.”  Her eyes were dark.

I gathered her close and closed my eyes in pain.  “I know.  Camilla.  We’ll find a way, love.  I swear, we’ll find a way.”

A shuddering sigh.  “We always have.”

I felt a hand on my shoulder, and realized that Nathaniel had stood.  “This is the first time I’ve been grateful Wardens cannot have children.”  I looked up to see him run his hand along Cassandra’s hair, and then offer it to her as she stood.  My arms tightened once, then I let Fey go so I could do the same.

“Come one, love.  Camilla will need breakfast soon, and so do we.”

Cassandra looked at us.  “I would like to head to the Templar Home when we can, ideally the three of us.  I do not know, Nathaniel, if you have other tasks.”

Fey looked at her.  “Not me?”

“No, Safeyya.  You are still ‘recuperating at Skyhold, are you not?  I thought that was why Captain Mornay stayed behind with the refugees too afraid to leave and just enough of the Inquisition’s troops to make it look realistic.”

“Yes, that is what we’ve still been telling people.”  I stepped in.  “Though those recovering from lyrium withdrawal know she’s here.”  I would not trust the retired Templars.  They were still bound to lyrium - and with memory going, may not remember what was to be kept private.  “Fey, it’s only until you’ve recovered from the pregnancy – spring at the latest.  I’ll tell a sentry so Bree knows when to expect us.  Nathaniel, if you need to send a message while you are here, our ravens are available.”

“Thank you, Cullen – I must go to the Chantry first, though.”

I caught the eye of the sentry in Father Pine, tossed a hand signal and she swung down to us.  “Commander?”

“Please pass the word.  Inspection at the Templar Home will be…” I thought, “mid-afternoon at the earliest.”

“Ser.”  She saluted, then took off on light feet to the next sentry post.

**

The rest of the visit was a blur.  Meetings, inspection – Cassandra insisted on drilling, but only with the sentries, Mia, Fey and I.  The night before she left, she looked around the dinner table, and sighed.  “Cullen – you deserve time with your family, but I cannot afford you sitting idle for long.  One month.  That is how long it will take Nathaniel and I to go check on the Seekers and return to my duties as Divine.  I will need you next to the Sunburst Throne when I return – and will need to keep you through Wintersend at least.  The Right Hand has duties for the holiday.”

Fey nodded, resigned.  “And he’ll need to go to to some of the Grand Chantries, based on what you and Munir have said.”  She and the Brother had found peace, after a few days.  He’d apologized, one she waved away with a ‘I’d dealt with my mother a lot longer, Munir.  I know what she’s like.  She usually gets her way.’  She had remained adamant that she would not return, however – and he eventually agreed that he had ‘been unable to reach Young Lady Trevelyan,’ which had the advantage of being at least partly true.

“Should we be worried that we’ve not heard from Rylen?”

Fey and I looked at each other as we considered Nathaniel’s question.  She answered slowly.  “No, I don’t think so.  Working with the Kal-Sharok – even if he found them immediately, they would have to consider and ponder and decide what to do.  Captain Rylen is a good man, but not one to give partial news.”

I nodded.  “All too accurate, unfortunately.  He got used to working on his own and reporting after the fact when a Templar – and it worked well enough at Griffon Wing Keep, during the Inquisition.  I did not do as much as I should have to train it out of him.  He also has the Templars to address, though that should be simpler.”  If they listened to him, another ‘failed’ member of the Order.  There were only a few reasons they did me: I was Right Hand, I had been Knight-Commander and survived the fall of two mage Circles, and I would still sometimes encourage new Templar recruits, or send some of those who had found sanctuary and purpose in the Inquisition back to the Order.

Cassandra snorted, her feet back up on the mantle.  “The Order will not listen to him, Cullen.  Although he is part of your force, his rank holds little weight among those who did not actively support the Inquisition.  At best, he will be able to tell us whether red lyrium is involved.”

“He had been a Knight-Lieutenant, Cassandra.  That may still carry weight.”

Mia had gone upstairs to do the accounts and Eli had left to help with a sick foal, so it was just the four of us.  Well, plus Shadow and Camilla, who had started to cry.  I took my feet off Shadow’s back, and crawled under the table.  “Come on, lovey – come to your da, and we can go upstairs so you can eat and sleep.”  She turned her head, then with a kick levered her body over in my general direction, stuffing a fist in her mouth as her eyes widened in surprise.

I gave her a big smile, and picked her up for a hug and kiss.  “Well done, sweetie!”  My nose wrinkled.  “But you still need to get changed and cleaned.”  I looked at Fey.  “I can take bath time, and let you finish your dinner.”

Shadow wuffed at the words.  “No, dog.  I am not dealing with both of you in a bucket.”

Fey smothered a chuckle.  “Shadow, I have a bit of extra cheese.  Why don’t you eat that, and then you can come upstairs when I feed her.”  The hound considered, ate the offered treat in one bite, and flopped back next to Fey’s chair, pointedly not looking as I carried Camilla up.

I had known this wouldn’t, couldn’t last…but hearing it from Cassandra made it real.  I wanted as much time with my ladies as I could manage.  Camilla, thankfully, loved bath time, kicking her feet and gurgling with her gap-mouthed smile.  Fey snuck up behind me while I was playing with her, still.  I felt the warmth of her against my back, heard the smile in her voice.  “Is she clean yet?”  She kissed the back of my neck.  I just kept going, pulling Camilla up and out of the bucket…of much cooler water than she’d gone into, it  _ had _ been a while, until I felt her warm breath and the faintest touch of lips, then tongue, where she had just kissed me.

“Witch,” I said softly, teasingly.  “Besides, Camilla is a light sleeper.”

She chuckled back.  “I’m sure you can convince Elim and Shadow to watch, while we find enough blankets to camp out in our new house tonight.”

It was so tempting…but Cassandra and Nathaniel were still here, were leaving early tomorrow.  “Not tonight – but I’m certain I can sneak enough over during all the work on our house tomorrow afternoon.”  I finished wrapping Camilla, handed her to Fey.  With her arm full of infant that  _ knew  _ her dinner was near, I could lift her chin and press my mouth against hers, sneaking the taste of her as her lips parted.  “Tomorrow,” I whispered.

“Beast.”  Her eyes focused on our daughter again.  “Let’s get you settled, lovey.”


	8. Duties Beckon

_ ‘Shok _

__ _ I’ve started hearing rumors that the Inquisition - or Divine, depending on the source - are hiding something that makes Templars more effective.  Probably the red stuff.  The Chargers and some of the other Companies - the Valo-Kas, Arl Sutherland’s crew, the Blades - are kicking off their own.  That yes, there was something else, but it must have been blood magic.  The crap’s supposed to be blue, not red - so it’s believable, and hides our actual reasons.  The fact it’s mostly showing up where the Venatori were is helping.  No one trusts Vints down here, and cultist Vints have even more against them.  My agents are trying to find the source, or at least who might be keeping the rumors alive. _

_ Another thing - here are the sites we’ve heard of through the other Companies.  They know to avoid this shit now, and to pass the locations to Wardens in Orlais and Ferelden.  I may have told them those Warden-Commanders will pay a reward for the information.  It’s worth it.’ _

“He’s right, Cullen.  Send messages to Deanne, Nathaniel and Alissa.  The Inquisition’s vaults can cover the cost - Lady Montiliyet made sure of that before the Exalted Council.”

I grabbed a pen.  “Bull’s getting results faster than I expected.  I’ll also send him a thank-you, and offer the Valo-Kas another contract.  Shokrakar is good based on what I’ve heard, and the Wardens could use some help finishing off all the bandits that moved into the Approach.”

“Good call.  They’ll know where it came from, and that will also get around.”

__ _ ‘Commander _

__ _ We’ve convinced one Grand Cleric to hand over Ser Olivier.  She only knew part of the story - once we passed over the fact he was raping not just mages but fellow Templars, she changed her mind.  You will need to stop by Grande Marche and the Chantry to show appreciation. _

__ _ Ser Baris’ _

“Grande Marche...East of Val Royeaux.”  I’d found it on the map fairly quickly.

“The Duc’s on the Council of Heralds - one of the few who had actively supported Gaspard for Emperor originally.  Briala said the Duc is dangerous...but he did provide troops against Corypheus, didn’t he?  Who is the Grand Cleric there?”  Fey rummaged through the shelves I’d put in the study for the time being, putting things away and marking the shelves with something so we could both figure things out.

“He did,” I responded absently.  “He had mostly kept out of the civil war, so had plenty available, if not battle-hardened.  I think his niece is a Revered Mother, somewhere out near the Emerald Graves.  I’d have to check with Mother Giselle on the Grand Cleric - there are a lot and they all wear the same thing.  I can’t keep them straight yet, but will need something personal to go off of before I meet her.”

She chuckled.  “A diplomat, my dear?  You’ve changed.”

I glared for a moment, but I had over the years as Commander, and more in my short time as Right Hand..  “My bones ache when it snows.  If talking will work, then I’ll learn how to talk nicely.  The Duc came out to Skyhold once or twice while you were in the Frostbacks dealing with those Avaar.  He was surprisingly decent for an Orlesian.”

She walked over and gave me a kiss.  “And there’s the Commander I fell in love with, the Commander who cared about his people, but always said what he was thinking.”

_ ‘Right Hand _

__ _ Yes, Grand Cleric AnneMarie is a holdover, but not one I would have expected to shelter a rogue.  I have already passed on the Divine’s appreciation for Knight-Commander Baris’ efforts.  Unfortunately, that is the only one who has.  She is from the southeast originally, but was a Revered Mother in Amaranthine until the end of the Orlesian occupation of Ferelden.  She left voluntarily, but lost two brothers and a cousin at the Battle of River Dane.  She will need a delicate touch.  Please give my best to Safeyya - Grand Cleric Deen will be coming to Val Royeaux for Wintersend. _

__ _ Mother Giselle’ _

__ _ ‘Cullen _

__ _ Grand Cleric AnneMarie has few weaknesses, other than the loss of her family.  She is bitter about Ferelden independence, and has only negative things to say about ‘the rabbit’ Briala.  Ferelden manners will not help you here. _

__ _ Nightingale’ _

“Damn Orlesians.”

Fey had no sympathy.  “I had to deal with it for three years, while you could escape with your ‘Commander Duties’ from the majority of events.  Even Josephine supported that unless you were specifically needed, after you told the Marquis that he was a pompous ass who didn’t know which end of a sword to point unless he had written instructions.”  She giggled at my face.

“I still remember him, from when we first arrived at Skyhold.  He didn’t.  If it was dressed in anything but satin and lace, it was too complicated for him.”

“But he had access to trade routes we needed for the merchants.  Oh, she and I had a week of cleanup from that one!  It all worked out in the end: it meant we convinced him that it was ‘too rough’ to stay at Skyhold to personally supervise.”

“Thank the Maker.  Sera would have done something horrible.”

_ ‘Cullen _

_ Shit, I forgot to let you know I got to the Hunterhorns.  I found a small deposit a week ago, and asked the Wardens to come deal with it.  It was close to the training grounds.  They asked me if it was blood-magic, and tried to nullify it?  Whatever your playing at, it would be good to know in advance.  I managed to look mysterious, and pulled the ‘Inquisition business’ act.  It won’t work much longer. _

_ It’s damn cold out here, despite how far North it is.  The Kal-Sharok took the message, and said I’d have an answer ‘When one came,’ whatever the hell that means.  I’m looking forward to escorting them back to Honnleath, and my office.  You always find the worst places to send me.  Why do I still work for you? _

_ Rylen’ _

I laughed, and sent a quick reply.

_ ‘Rylen _

_ You work for me because no one else puts up with your whining.  How else do you think you wound up hunting malificarum in the most desolate parts of Ferelden for seven years?  At least I gave you an office, even if you don’t get to see it as frequently as you’d like.  There’s a belief that red lyrium was because of blood magic.  No idea why they’d try that on something that was already changed, though. _

__ _ Cullen’ _

The month was gone – I had been able to stay long enough to see our house filled with furniture.  Captain Mornay had managed to send not just Fey’s bed from Skyhold, but my desk and bookcases, for our study, and a few other odds and ends, disguised as ‘support for the Templar Home.’  Flurry was saddled, my escort was ready – I even had the list of furnishings to commission in Val Royeaux tucked safely in my belt.  I still couldn’t bring myself to give Camilla to her uncle so I could kiss my wife goodbye.  Again.

It was Fey who found the strength.  “Cullen, you need to go so you can make it to the first waystation.”  She was wrapped in a heavy shawl: she had no love for winter, not even four years after almost dying in the avalanche escaping Haven.  She pulled my head down just enough for a deep kiss, then grabbed Camilla’s waist as she dove for her mother, and took a step back.

The sudden emptiness where their warmth had been was almost too much, knowing how long we would be apart.  I brushed a tear from her cheek with my gloved hand.  “Stay safe, love.  I’ll send word as soon as we arrive.”

Her lip trembled, but we had both done this before.  “Maker watch over you.”

I finally mounted, Shadow at my heel.  “And you.”  I turned without another word, riding toward my ever-present duty and the friend who needed me to serve.

**

I would never understand how the ravens found me, but it did not matter.  I settled the creature, it’s bright eye watching me as I pulled free the tightly-rolled message before hopping off my wrist and back onto the window sill.  I recognized Bree’s writing, and hoped.  Fey still hadn’t grown comfortable with a quill in her off hand.

_ My love _

__ _ It hasn’t been long, but we miss you all the same.  A raven came from Rylen – we should have visitors sometime in the spring, if I read it right.  There was one infestation, but it hadn’t yet rooted: Warden-Commander Deanne sent a pair to help, and it has been removed.  He promised a longer report by messenger to both of us. _

_ It’s different, now, being the one who stays behind.  How did you bear this for three years?  Eli included ‘a little something’ he’d sketched. _

She hadn’t had it signed – yet another of the ways we protected her secret.  I turned to the second page, and my breath caught.  There, in charcoal, with the same spare lines as he’d traced out the house we built, was that last morning in Honnleath.  Camilla in my arm, my other wrapped around Fey as she kissed me.  “Eli, you hopeless romantic.”  He’d had no one in his life according to Mia, not since his young wife had died in childbirth, the babe stillborn – and that was while I was still at Kinloch, before the Blight had devastated Ferelden.  Fifteen years, now.  I shook off the mood, and turned over Fey’s letter – found the quill and ink at the table, and sat.

__ _ Dearest _

__ _ So far, I have been asked to ‘show face’ at the various Chantries, reassuring those who feared I was power-mad, or just the change of a male Right Hand.  Send anything larger to my quarters in Val Royeaux – I should be back regularly, and of course for the High Feastday. _

I sighed, then added another line.

_ The separation is no easier…no adrenaline or exploration to hide your absence.  Duty is cold comfort, as you know.  My love to everyone, and a kiss to the little ones. _

I fed the raven – I had been done with my lunch anyway – then re-rolled Fey’s note and re-attached it.  “Back to Bree, now, bird.”  For that, I got another derisive look, a caw right in my ear – and the flapping of wings as it took flight.


	9. Val Royeaux

Wintersend.  One of the great feastdays from before Andraste.  The Chantry had co-opted it, changed it to focus on how Andraste had regained the sight of the Maker.  Incense and candles filled the enormous ballroom, glowed over satin, sparkled off the jewels, and lit the enormous buffet tables against the wall.  Servants and lay Sisters and Brothers circled the room with drinks and to provide assistance (and a gentle reminder to keep the peace).  This once, no one wore masks - it was a religious holiday, and Cassandra had ‘reminded’ everyone that they approached the Maker’s sight as themselves, open and visible to all.  In other words, keep the damned Game out of her Chantry.  For the feasts, at least.

I, of course, was in my most formal uniform: the chain and leather backing covered in satin, dress sword, all of it.  At least as Right Hand, I could stay armed in public.  I felt for the Templars, who had accepted the new restrictions with poor grace, even after Cassandra had restored the Order.  I had walked in at the Divine’s right side, with her guard oh-so-casually at the wall behind her throne.  Then, she told me to mingle.  I had gotten better at that, but still hated it - much like her, in fact.

I made pleasant talk with Mother Giselle and Leliana - still the Left Hand until or unless Cassandra found another fit.  I expected it within the next year or two.  Cassandra had not been pleased that Leliana - Nightingale - had gotten complacent enough to miss the spies in the Inquisition ranks.  Neither had Fey - part of the reason Bull filled that role (without Leliana’s awareness, we thought) for the Inquisition we’d hidden within the Divine’s bodyguard.

The Emperor was announced: I made my way over immediately, and offered a bow.  “Imperial Majesty.”

He waved away the courtesy, and clasped my forearm.  “Commander.  It has been a long time since the Exalted Council - and longer since my crowning.  The years have treated you well.”

I couldn’t say the same - he had already been decades older when his sister killed the Empress on his behalf.  Three years of ruling Orlais and being ruled in turn by Marquise Briala behind the scenes had taken its toll.  Instead, I searched for something else.  “Your empire prospers, Majesty.  You have much to be proud of.”  He snorted, but I continued with the rest.  “We are both soldiers, Majesty - you have managed to bring the Empire to peace, which is no small feat, and kept those too used to blood from disrupting your rule.”  Fey and Cassandra both had wanted me to see how much he truly chafed, dancing to Briala’s tune.

“Indeed, Commander.  Something we both understand.  The Chevaliers have not been pleased about disruptions of their extreme rituals, but they have bowed to their ruler.  The Marquise has been very helpful in identifying those most likely to rebel.”

Orlesian indeed.  I kept my opinion off my face.  For all we had needed his martial prowess, the fact he was a Chevalier and had frequently participated in said ‘ritual’ of slaughtering elves on graduation nights was abhorrent.  And yet being Orlesian, he’d found a way to hide most of the horror in pretty words.  Even with their outer masks off, they needed to conceal.

“May I escort you to the Divine?”

He nodded jerkily.  I had found out what I needed, but continued the small talk until we were near Cassandra.  She caught my signal and paused her conversation with Grand Cleric Deen to turn and greet the Emperor with a handclasp, one warrior ruler to another.  She waved me off with her other hand - and I noticed the servant near the pair had a red pattern on the back of his hand.  One of Sera’s.  She had promised her support to Cassandra, and hadn’t failed to deliver.

I followed the movement of the crowd, lifting a glass of wine from a nearby tray, and saw Knight-Commander Baris.  We clasped forearms with a smile.  “Ser Baris, good to see you!”

“Commander, I’m glad you were able to attend.”  I took a sip from the glass in my left hand to hide a second smile.  The man was young for his position, and compensated by increased formality.  I could remember his earnest need to fix what had been broken when be brought the surviving Templars to Haven, to help the Herald seal the Breach - and seal it they had.

“Ser Cullen is fine.  Your title as Knight-Commander grants you that much.  How are things at White Spire?”

His lips tightened.  “As you know, we’ve cleaned out the various towers...and dungeons.  And given those we found abandoned decent burials.  I made the Templars help, but the remains were handled by the mages - the Templars had lost that right through their failures.  It...helped.  The new First Enchanter is a suspicious man, but had survived years of abuse and terror.  Bringing Ser Olivier back to face trial helped more.”

I saw a Grand Cleric approaching, and switched to Orlesian.  My accent still left some to be desired, but it was a comfortable enough tongue.  “And here is the Grand Cleric who made that justice possible.”  I bowed deeply, and gestured to a servant nearby.  “May I offer you something to drink, Your Grace?”

She nodded her head stiffly - not discomfort, I had learned when I saw her several weeks ago, but age.  “My thanks, Right Hand.”  She took the glass of sparkling wine with a thin smile for both of us.  “As far as the renegade was concerned...as I told Ser Baris, he had not confessed all when he sought sanctuary.  Had I realized he was avoiding consequences for the crimes he committed in the Chantry’s name, I would not have offered it.”

“And the Divine herself has passed on her appreciation, Your Grace.”  I set my empty glass on the tray with a murmured word of graditude, and reached for another...the one the servant had placed closest.  Well-watered, thank the Maker.  With the heat in here, I would be drinking a great deal and could not afford to be muddled.  “Ser Baris was telling me that Olivier,” I left off his title deliberately, “has been brought to trial.”

I looked around as Baris picked up the cue, and passed on the details - sanitized for the occasion, but she would know that as well.  I didn’t see any trouble spots, but also couldn’t spot Grand Cleric Deen’s distinctive figure.  We hadn’t had an opportunity to speak since she arrived yesterday, just in time for the feast.  She and Fey had begun corresponding again this past year, and I knew my wife would want me to pass on our best wishes personally.  And hear the latest gossip, though she wouldn’t call it that.

The herald cleared his throat, and I faced the door, despite the numbers of people blocking my view.  With so many personages, it would take a Duc, Grand Cleric or ruler to be announced tonight - and I knew Queen Anora of Ferelden had sent her regrets.  “Her Worship, Lady Safeyya Franziska Aramina Trevelyan, Former Inquisitor and Herald of Andraste.”  Whispers rippled after the wave of silence as her titles rang out.

_ Fey, what in Andraste’s name are you doing here?  _  I had no message, no word - no idea this was coming.  I hastily made my excuses - accepted with grace since of course the Right Hand would need to greet the Herald - and moved toward the door.  Yes, it was her, tall and distinctive in her blood-and-black, her wedding necklace glimmering in the light.  She had matching earrings accenting her long neck - a gift from Dorian for the new mother.  But here, we could not be husband and wife, something few outside our Circle knew.  I thanked Dorian again for his help, since wedding necklaces had gone out of style decades ago and few would dream of connecting it to the ring I wore.  Elim was quietly entertained by the rumors of being my ‘shy country wife,’ since most letters came in her hand.

I was finally able to reach her, and bowed: she nodded in return.  “Your Worship, welcome to Val Royeaux.”  I had learned to conceal feelings in Kirkwall, lessons my position as Commander and now Right Hand polished.  We would have a long conversation - later.

“Thank you, Commander.”  She placed her hand on mine, and I brought it up for a very proper courtly kiss before resting it on my forearm.  As we moved toward the Divine’s Throne, conversations restarted around us.

“You’ve made quite the entrance, my lady.”  I kept my voice quiet, but conversational, though even here couldn’t keep the bite entirely out of it.

“I must ask your forgiveness for not sending word.  Captain Mornay recommended I come in person with news.”  That made me look closer, see the faint lines of stress at the corners of her eyes as they casually scanned the room around us.  She was at her most formal, which meant she expected to be overheard.

“Is it important enough to ask the Divine’s forgiveness and come to my office?”  Cassandra was still speaking with Emperor Gaspard, so I guided us along the side until we reached a moderately quiet corner.  It didn’t take long for the same servant to come up with a plate of fruit and cheeses, and two glasses of wine.

“Friends.”  His voice was quiet, his face pointed away from the dignitaries.

I handed Fey one glass, then took my own.  He set the plate on a side table between us, bowed, and left.  These, like the one he’d given earlier, were well-watered, but a dark enough vintage that it wouldn’t be noticeable.  She took a sip, sighed, set it down so she could pick at the grapes.

“It can wait until the whispers and speculation die down, and I can greet Cass proprerly.  Besides, it may be for both of you.”  Her hand trembled slightly.  “Everyone is fine, as far as I know.  I brought a moderate escort from Skyhold - we had visitors I needed to meet.”

I reminded myself to keep an interested, professional face.  “This should all be over soon: Cassandra hasn’t kept appearances more than a few hours past nightfall.”  The Emperor had started circulating again.  “And now would be a good time to reach the Divine - the Emperor is the only dignitary whose rank technically tops yours and she’s already spoken with all the Grand Clerics in attendance.”  I gestured, and the servant came back.  “Please take this to my suite.  We’ll need a light dinner for...three?”

“Four.”  Fey’s voice was quiet.

“Four, then, shortly after we make our excuses here.”

He nodded.  “Of course.”

We started walking again, going our separate ways as we met the myriad obligations we both had, and I counted down the endless minutes until Cassandra would declare an end to this, and I could deal with my wife - and daughter? - in private.

I reached my suite first - not surprising, I suppose.  Cassandra promised to come as soon as she was ‘casual:’ she would frequently come by to discuss things after dressing as one of the Inquisition bodyguard.  No one looked beyond the uniform except my people and Sera’s ‘friends.’  I nodded to Alfred.  “Expect Cassandra and Safeyya, at least.  We may have at least one more joining us.”

“Ser?  Safeyya - the Herald?”  The surprise in his voice sparked my temper again.

“Yes.  She arrived today, apparently.”

He took another look at my face, and decided discretion was the better option.  “Ser.”

I dropped my sword in the rack, and peeled off the damned formal coat.  While I was used to armor, it was still hot as blazes at these events.  Too much leather, and it just collected sweat.  I dropped it in the ‘needs cleaning’ basket near the door to my bedroom with a muffled thud.  Cassandra had provided an ample set of rooms for my ‘permanent’ home: bedroom, study and a main area for conversation and meals for a small party.  Indoor bathing: I had gotten used to that at Skyhold.  Plenty of room to pace in both the main area and the study, which is what I did as I peeled - the word unfortunately accurate - out of my shirt and let it join the jacket.  What was going through Fey’s head, that she decided to come to Val Royeaux of all places, without letting me know to ensure she was protected?  Where was Camilla?  I stalked over to the desk in the study, to see if there were any new messages that could shed light on her actions.  Nothing.  I snarled at the innocent scraps of parchment as my knuckles turned white.

“What did they do to you?”  She closed the study door behind her and eyed me appreciatively - something that brought my temper back to the surface.

“They didn’t.   _ You _ did.  What in Andraste’s name are you doing here?”

She’d slipped her boots and vest off - the sight of her bare feet somehow made things worse.  “It’s good to see you, too.”

“Fey, it’s not  _ safe _ for you here!”  I dug both hands in my hair as I paced, wishing she would see reason - even though it was already too late.  “All the Grand Clerics came, including those who are sheltering the rogues.  The Templars have been getting tense, and all of this is without counting the damned Orlesians and their bloody Game!”

Her eyes flared.  “I know the Game, Cullen - it’s no different than the damned games my parents play in Ostwick, just more formal.  What else can the Orlesians do to me?  Or the Chantry and Templars?  I’ve already given my damned hand.”  She threw her arms out before her right hand made a fist.

I wouldn’t answer that - I couldn’t bear to voice those words.  So she punched me.  I caught her wrist and yanked her close, pulling the arm up behind her back in a pin.  I could feel her pulse racing in the wrist I held, tightened my grip as she struggled.  I spaced out the words, trying to ignore the scent of her hair.  “Why are you here?”

“What I told you earlier.  It was the best option I had.”  She tried to twist out of my grip again, but couldn’t get the leverage.  Then the witch leaned against me, breathed in my ear.  My mind went blank as I felt her teeth pull slightly on my earlobe for a moment.  “Later.  It’s been too long since you had to leave.”

My free hand pressed under her jaw, cradled it as she tipped it up.  Hot, hungry mouths, her body pressed against mine.  I snarled again, but this time at the clothes that got in the way.  It didn’t take long to peel off her pants and set her on the edge of the desk, even less time for three hands to unfasten mine.

**

We stepped back out of the study to see Cassandra eating and Fran standing alert by the door.  Fey’s cheeks flushed slightly, but I knew how well-made the suite was.

“So, Safeyya - why did you feel you needed to come personally, and with no warning?”

She sat and started in on the sliced vegetables, hummus and cheese, trying to act normally.  “As I mentioned to Cullen, I had a meeting I needed to take...in Skyhold.  The Duc of Grande Marche had questions that he needed the Herald and former Inquisitor to answer.  He also used the excuse of needing to pass his condolences for the death of Stefan.”  Her mouth tightened.  “Good thing we have the agents we do, or I wouldn’t have had enough warning to get there in time for Mornay to make everything look lived-in.”

“You mean you meant what you said at the feast?”  The Duc...the same one where Grand Cleric AnneMarie had unknowingly sheltered the rogue Templar.  I started putting the pieces together.  She was right - again.

She nodded, her temper showing briefly.  “Of course.  I hadn’t known until he came: he was a patron of Stefan’s.  His ties to the Grand Clerics may be worth looking into.”

Casandra’s eyes narrowed.  “They will be.  And ties to the Order.  If he had one under his wing, he’ll have had more.”  She looked around.  “Where is Shadow?”

I hadn’t even noticed.  Fran answered from the door.  “With Camilla, Your Perfection.”

“You brought our daughter?”

Fey shook her head, mischief sparkling in her eyes.  “Yes and no - it was something Bull suggested. Irving had to leave Minrathous - someone found one of the dead drops, but hadn’t tracked him down yet.  Since we had a relationship, Bull forged an ‘invitation’ on my behalf for him to come to Skyhold.  Fran and he had apparently been having an intermittent affair, and he ‘discovered’ she’d had a child - so took the invitation as a way to see her.  He’s ‘accepted a position as senechal,’ I think we decided.”  Fran chuckled.

I thought.  “That...could work.  Though the things I apparently don’t know about my own troops.”  Fey giggled at that one.

Cassandra sighed, still focused on what I’d first said.  “At this point, it will have to.”

There was a knock on the door, then a muscular young man, even darker than Fey, came in carrying Camilla with Shadow at his heels.  She’d grown so much over the past weeks, but just reached for Fey, babbling.  Fey chuckled and unbuttoned her shirt so she could feed her, tucking her in the corner of her arm.  I fixed my eye on the man.  “Irving, I presume?”

He nodded.  “Yes, Commander.”  I could hear the same Ostwick accent Fey had, with a Tevinter overlay.  “I’ve been in Lord Pavus’ employ for the past few years.  He...filled me in on some of what has happened.”  I watched - he moved much the same as Fey, as well.

She saw my measuring stare.  “Yes, Cullen, we were trained by the same Maestro.  I’d damn him, but it may be the only reason either of us survived, several times over.”

He flashed her a brief smile, his teeth bright white against his cheeks.  “All too true, Safeyya, both sides of it.  The training also meant the assassins who bought me were willing to let me dance, rather than...make coin other ways.”  His eyes got cold for a long moment before he shook himself and returned to the quietly cheerful persona he showed earlier.  “But I am free now, and gladly working for Pavus and...the other.”

Cassandra sighed, and took another drink of tea.  Fey looked mournfully at her plate a moment, and also sighed.  I chuckled - this I could do.  In between bites of my roast and vegetables, I held out pieces of what she had selected.  Her teeth and lips against my fingertips… “Witch.”  I tried to keep my mind on business as Cassandra rolled her eyes at us and Fey just gave me a wicked smile.

Business.  Strategy.  “So, the Duc went to check and see if you were actually ‘convalescing’ at Skyhold, and you convinced him you were.  Plus developed a cover story for Camilla.”

“The Duc was also potentially tied to some of the rogue Templars - and I have heard from the Curia, Olivier has been found guilty of rape, abuse of the Chantry’s laws, and failing in his vows.  He will be executed.”  Cassandra tightened her lips.  “From what I can see, there is little else I can do besides ask questions and make my displeasure known to the Grand Clerics who are defiant.  The College of Enchanters was an enormous change only possible because of the Inquisition and those mages who served freely.  While it should not, the decision to publicly denounce Templars who broke Chantry law - to admit that so many had - was equally controversial.  There is not much I will be able to take action on for the next year or two, unless my position gets unexpectedly strengthened.  Cullen, your role will continue as now: to calm the waters, keep the Templar Order in line, and hunt the rogues.”

Fey broke in.  “We also have word that there may be a few sources of red lyrium in Tevinter, but it looks like all of it was...transplanted by Venatori during the war.  As soon as we can get people up there, it should be easy to remove.”  She had another bite of cheese from my fingers.  “I also think Camilla is done.”

I took her from her mother, rocked her for a moment, humming softly.  She gave me a strange wide-eyed look for just a moment, then dropped her head on my shoulder with a sigh.  I kept my voice low as she settled.  “Surely, Fey, the two of you can stay here tonight?  There’s room for us to put her to sleep in my study, and we’ll have Shadow to help.”

Her eyes were soft as she watched the two of us, and wistful.  “I...would that negate everything we’ve done to conceal our family, love?”

It was Fran who spoke.  “No, Your Worship.  I can stay here tonight.  It would make sense for a young mother to keep her baby close.  We can put bedding under the desk for her, at the least, if Shadow can guard her tonight.  The Right Hand is known for supporting his troops as well as expecting discipline.  We are all part of the guard and therefore interchangeable as far as the nobles are concerned.  If Irving can carry a message, then there will be a guard on the Herald’s door.  She’s officially still recovering and still somewhat damaged by what she did to close the Breach.  No one will be able to disturb her short of the Emperor, Divine or Right and Left Hands, if we state she is resting and must not be disturbed.  Her suite is also just down the hall.”

Irving nodded.  “As seneschal, I secured a suite with two bedrooms: one for the Herald, and one for me and my ‘young family.’  I can handle anything until...midday, at least.”  I looked at him again.  “Commander, I understand your hesitation.  But Safeyya was one of my few friends - and she was not responsible for my enslavement, whatever that bitch of a mother told her.”  He glanced at Fey.  “Apologies for language, sadiq, but it’s true.”  He met my eyes.  “I was trained as an assassin, just like your wife, from my early teens.  Together, in fact.  Those who bought me tried to use me, and did.  But she is the one to pay for her mother’s actions, and I owe her my freedom and my life.  I will not repay that with death.”

I blinked.  I hadn’t known their relationship beyond ‘fellow dance student’ and ‘in Minrathous.’  It was something she hadn’t shared - but so much had happened to us over the past years.  I rubbed my face.  “Cassandra, I need you to make the call.  I’m too caught up in what I feel to think clearly.”

She chewed her lip.  “The Duc is here, but I can think of no reason for him to attempt to barge in on either of you.  I will have a word with the Emperor, but also think he would not seek either of you out.  It comes down to how much the two of you trust Iron Bull.”

I sighed.  “If he betrays us at any point, we’re both likely dead.  We knew that already.”

“Well, then.”

Irving rose.  “I’ll collect the papers the Herald asked me to deliver here.  That way you have everything you might need.”

Fey shook her head.  “If you want to, sadiq, but it’s not necessary.  Anything critical, I memorized.  I wouldn’t even bring it with to Skyhold.  Of course, any new messages are a different matter.”

He nodded, hand on his heart, and left.  Fey watched him go, eyes sad.

“How long?”

She sighed.  “I’ve known him...what, fifteen, sixteen years, now?  When I discovered what the Maestro had done, I ran away and he joined me.  We both needed to escape.  We were found a week later...my father has ‘connections’ across the Free Marches.  Mother had him sold to Tevinter because her daughter would never come up with a plan like that, so he must have corrupted me.”  She shook herself, came back to the present.  “Dorian helped me find him, buy his contract.  I...it just never came up, and there was Corypheus and everything else.”  She leaned over to kiss my shoulder in apology - the moment I realized I’d never found a dry shirt.

Cassandra burst into giggles as I flushed, making Camilla stir.  I patted her back and glared at the Seeker...who only giggled harder, especially as Shadow glared at her, too, for waking his puppy.  “I...will find some blankets.  Fran?”  The two ladies vanished into my bedroom, then came out with some of the extra bedding to bring into my study.

Fey’s lips twitched, but she took the opportunity to steal a long kiss.  “They should be done - let’s get the little dragon settled, and go to bed.”

Shadow curled up next to Camilla, and I’d made sure he could open the doors of the suite as needed.  They would be fine - which gave Fey and I a chance to go to bed ourselves.  To talk, eventually.

It was a delightfully long time later when Fey lifted her head from my right shoulder, her leg still thrown over my hips.  “It was good to hear Cass giggling.  Being Divine hasn’t been easy for her.”

I sighed and tightened my hand on hers, where I held it to my chest.  “No, it has not.  But she has done wonders.  Nathaniel comes when he can, and she has begun planning her next visit to the Hunterfells, as soon as the roads North are clear.”

“I’m sorry about showing up unannounced.  I just - there was so much going on, and I needed to tell you.  I didn’t even trust it to a raven.”

I brought her hand up for a kiss.  “And I should have trusted you had a reason.”

She tweaked my chest hair.  “Yes, you should have.”

I had to chuckle at that.  “Oh, Fey.  You are my life, but you will be the death of me.”

“What?”  In a move, she was straddling my waist and poking at my ribs.  “That’s your response?  How, pray tell, am I the death of you?”  Her eyes were warm and sparkling with mischief, which sent me into a spate of laughter...laughter she joined with an absolutely endearing giggling fit.  She collapsed on top of me and I wrapped my arms around her.

Every time we looked at each other, it would start again, usually with her also poking at my poor ribs for emphasis on whatever words she was attempting to choke out.  Finally, I found her lips and kissed her.  A sharp breath as that laughter warmed into something else and she kissed me again.

“You, my love, are absolutely irresistible when you do that.”  Her voice was low and rippling.

“When I do what?”

“When you look at me, love and laughter turning your eyes to caramel.  You’re just you: Cullen.  No responsibilities, no duty, no official garbage, no pain.”

“I’m married to a beautiful, strong and loving woman and we have a delightful little girl.”  My lips quirked, the humor still there.  “Fey, we even have a dog.  What reason do I have to not be happy and in love?”

We both knew the answers to that, but they didn’t matter right now, not as she leaned in for another kiss, which led to yet another, which led...it was a while more before either of us got to sleep.


	10. Death in a Place of Healing

Fey left ‘for Skyhold’ not long after the feast.  She was able to meet with Grand Cleric Deen, and quietly ask for word.  I had to go shortly after, to try collect the other rogues.  Diplomacy and talking, looking for the hidden knife.  Weeks passed, then months.  An urgent call to take one of Cassandra’s new Seekers (as part of my escort) when there was a massacre at the College of Enchanters in Starkhaven.  Madness, families of those killed in Kirkwall seeking vengeance because one of the instructors looked something like the Abomination Anders.  They listened to me because I’d burned the body myself.  Then, news that Grand Cleric AnneMarie was killed in the Grand Chantry itself.  No sign of who, no one knew anything.  Just the Grand Cleric, found at the altar with a knife in her back - stamped with the Templar sigil.  Leliana was furious, and ravens darkened the sky.  The weeks away from Fey turned into months: it wasn’t until late spring when Divine Victoria announced she would be inspecting the Templar Home and visiting various cities in Ferelden that I could finally send word, and a date.  Cassandra had promised I could stay in Honnleath with family while she travelled through Ferelden: Bree personally took charge of her escort, and doubled it.

**

“Stay here, Shadow.”  He whined: Fey and I were both dressed formally, so he knew something important was happening.  “Boy, Camilla needs a guard.”  She’d started crawling, and now pulling up to get to everything.  Fran and the family had been driven to distraction trying to keep an eye on her.  As soon as you looked away, she was off somewhere, getting into something that looked interesting.

Fey patted his head.  “It will be fine, Shadow.  We’ll be there, as will Rylen and Nathaniel, even all the former Templars.  He snuffled, then curled up next to our daughter as we kissed her and walked out to the Home.

This time, Cassandra was inspecting as Divine.  The former Templars looked sharp: she had selected three to join the Seekers. The retired Templars who had sought a quiet place to live out their post-Chantry lives were also lined up, wearing the arms they had earned over the years.  Nothing less for the head of the Chantry would do.  I glanced at them: some had clouded eyes from lost memories, others were still fairly sharp, even though the years of lyrium exposure had dulled their ability to perform.  The early summer air was still and clear, mocking the uneasiness I couldn’t define.

I resolved to ignore it, and watched as Rylen presented first the recovering Templars, then the retired ones.  Cassandra and Fey, Divine and Herald, walked along the ranks as I stood at the front, composed and stern.  Nathaniel, not a part of the process, stayed near the entrance to the Home, a simple observer.

There was a shifting movement as Cassandra reached the third rank, and I looked closer.  Unfortunately, from this angle, I couldn’t see much.  “Othrian,” I called: he was the nearest healer, and if one of the retirees had fallen…I froze in shock as I watched a figure fall, but it was wearing the Divine’s hat.  Before I could react, I heard the hiss of swords from within the retiree formation, and a shout of ‘Down with the False Divine!’

“Cassandra!” Nathaniel shouted, and strung his bow.  

That wouldn’t be enough.  A call to arms, a moment of panic tamped down.  “Rylen, Karsten, Fatima!  Get the Divine to safety!   _ Othrian! _ ”

I drew my sword, ran over, just as I saw a flash of blood and black next to Cassandra’s limp form.   _ Fey.   _ The other former Templars drew weapons as well, and chaos ran wild.  The next shout chilled my blood.  “Kill both of them!  The so-called Herald will pay for her murder of the Divine!”

Maker…and I could feel the smite targeting Othrian…but I’d felt the coolness of a barrier just before.  No way of knowing if it was still in effect, and no time to care.   I swore as I took down the first of the retirees.  Going up against fully armored Templars in a formal uniform was not a good option, but was all I had.  Rylen was right behind me, and I saw the blur of an arrow past my left eye – right into another one who was about to strike at my shield-side, unshielded.

“We need them alive!”  This wasn’t a sudden delusion: we would need to get answers.  I worked to clear space around Cassandra, moving forward and grabbing the base of yet another sword, glad my ‘formal’ gloves…and jacket…had a lining of knitted chain as fine as cloth, but enchanted to strength.  It wouldn’t hold against a true strike, but it gave some protection.  Just as Fey’s vest.

She had her thigh dagger in hand, and had slipped inside the guard of one Templar to spin, her back against his chest for a moment as she drove the blade into the gap just under his breastplate.  It stuck – probably on his hipbone, and she abandoned it, dropping through his grasping arms to roll between his legs, a boot dagger in her hand as he fell and she looked for the next threat.  Block another sword, deflecting it from a strike at Cassandra –  _ Andraste, there’s blood all over the grass –  _ and grunt as it sinks in just above my knee.  Embrace the pain, float in it, use it to focus....

“Rylen, get her  _ out, NOW! _ ”  He’d tried to cover my back, the fool.  “She’s the Divine!”  Karsten and Fatima guarded them both as he grabbed her shoulders and started dragging.  Nathaniel’s arrows caught one assailant in the hand, another was pinned to the ground as it went through her instep.  Fey was in the middle of a pack of four: her second boot dagger snapped as I watched, and she jumped up and flipped over one’s head, drawing the blade from her back as her stump pushed off of his shoulder.  I was the Right Hand – but she was my wife.  “Seeker Recruits, guard your Divine!  Othrian, get to her!”

I felt another Smite building, targeted at taking down Othrian – localize it, kick through his knee and fall as my left gave out from under me.  A quick roll – a questioning moment of how bad the damage was – but I was able to get to one knee, push up with my right, and found myself standing next to Fey, who was weaponless again.  The hidden daggers didn’t have the weight to go up against a fully-armored Templar.  I tossed one of my boot daggers underhand, she caught it just in time to block a strike at my open side, and I spun the other direction as I felt something coming toward my back.  I’d shifted just enough for the blade to bury itself in the grass.  I didn’t think my leg would stand up to another kick, so drop to my knee again, pommel strike his hand with my entire weight behind it.  A spasm of pain, and the sword was down – and I could bring my elbow around to his jaw as I surged up with a spike of agony from my injured leg.  Later.  I heard the crack, and didn’t care whether he’d survived.  Pull the sword up, behind my back – a clang as it took a hard hit, my back flaring with agony, and roll again, to get under the cover Fey provided as she tossed my boot dagger into an armpit before flipping over me, her hand somehow grabbing the dagger at my belt.

A grunt, the knee refusing to take weight, and it collapses, leaving me open.  Try bring the sword around, he has too many openings on a prone target to defend them all...

She flipped my dagger underhand again, just in time to take most of the final strike coming toward my side, but it skidded past the tip of the blade, too short for what she was doing, and sunk into her forearm.  A burst of profanity, and she flung herself into a side-spin, kicking his bicep away and opening him up for her to drive the blade through his knee…and then I saw a pommel come down on his neck and shoulders, driving him to the ground.  Scan – and there were no more swords coming at us.  A huddle around a white and red robe…the healer, Othrian, Rylen standing guard as Fatima held something to her side.  

I looked around the now-bloody field: the former Templars were standing over those who had been bretheren, swords drawn.  The grass, trampled and torn, spattered with dirt and gore.  It looked like two of those recovering had fallen in the chaotic battle.  Nathaniel was kneeling next to one, using a belt knife to cut strips from his sleeves to bind a bad wound on her side.  The other…would not stand again, as I saw the side of his head.  Mace, poor bastard.  Of the Templars, most of the fallen seemed to still be moving.  “Half stand guard.  The others, start binding wounds.  We need information.”

I took a deep breath, then glanced at my left leg to see how badly the strike had gotten me.  Blood soaked the black cloth, and I could feel it trickling into my boot.  I pulled the sash from my waist, wrapped the leg tightly – it would have to do.  I took a deep breath, pulse pounding in my ears: pushed up again with a silent sigh of relief that the sash was able to act as tourniquet and brace, and hobbled over to Fey to check her arm.  My sword sank into the soil too deeply to be a good crutch, but it was all I had.  She was dripping blood, but it didn’t look like it hit anything critical.  I ripped off her sleeve, used that to bind her lower bicep and close the wound.

She looked at me with tears in her eyes.  “Cullen, what happened?”  She reached out and touched my side gently, but I still winced.  That hit against my back must have gotten through at least part of the guard.  I hadn’t even felt it at the time, but I could now with every breath.  “Everything was fine, and then one of them pulled a dagger – he’d driven it into Cassandra’s side before either of us could react.”

“Cassandra.”  I touched Fey’s cheek, then turned and staggered the four agonizing steps to Rylen.  “Rylen, the Divine?”

He gave a calming gesture that I couldn’t believe, not with shock and adrenaline still pouring through my system.  He stepped toward me, sword still out.  “She’ll be fine, Cullen.  Got between her lower ribs, but missed anything important.  She shifted enough – or got lucky enough – that it was a glancing blow.”  He glanced down, and spoke in a low voice as he slipped under my arm to give support.  “You need a healer, too, Brother.  That looks ugly.”

It wasn’t often Rylen broke formality, not in public.  He was worried.  “It’s worse than it looks.”  Not by much, but enough I could say that.  Not enough that I pushed away his assistance.  “Who shouted?  I don’t know the retirees well – they never joined in drill or the runs.”

He closed his eyes, and I watched as he brought his memory into play.  “Ser…Berg, I think.  From the Circle at Hossberg.  His request was approved by the Grand Cleric…I can find the papers, I keep all of them.”

I nodded slightly.  “And…call in the sentries.  They knew there was going to be an inspection, so they might have heard this and thought it was some kind of demonstration.  We need more people.”  And many had been Leliana’s agents, when she was the Inquisition’s spymaster.  They could find answers in this disaster.  He headed out at a run: one of the only truly mobile members who knew all the signals.  As I heard whistles start to pierce the air, I started to wonder if I could relax.  Rylen helped me lean against the wall to survey the practice yard.  Only one death among the former Templars – I still needed a better name – and…it looked like four out of the retirees.  At least one was an ancient woman whose mind had long gone – she must have wound up in the middle, her sword wasn’t even drawn.  Five were on their feet, herded against the wall and slowly, resentfully stripping their armor.

“Nathaniel.”  He glanced at me, jaw tight, arrow still nocked on his bow.  I met his eyes, and he came over so we could speak quietly.  “The Grand Cleric from Hossberg.  My mind isn’t working well enough – is she one of those who had been sheltering rogue Templars?”

His eyes iced over.  “Hossberg.  The closest Grand Cathedral to Weisshaupt.”

“Maker…I hadn’t even considered that.  Help me to walk around the downed Templars, Nathaniel.”

“Why?”

“Red lyrium.  I’m a former addict, and I was near Knight-Captain Denham when he was brought in, after Therinfall.  I may be able to tell if there was any here.”

He glanced down.  “You’re not walking with that.”

“There’s mail in the sash.  It will hold enough.  We need to know.”

A reluctant nod.  “Between you and the lyrium, and my being able to sense Wardens…yes.”  He threw my left arm over his shoulder, letting me take most of the weight off the injured leg.

With my injury – injuries, if I was being honest – it was a slow process even though the yard wasn’t large.  I wasn’t breathing deeply just to catch the faint scent of rot that went along with Blighted lyrium…but it had that effect, despite the pain from cracked ribs.  One…two…three.  I made a note of faces, but said nothing.  At one point, I felt Nathaniel’s arm tense, but his expression didn’t flicker.  He helped me lean back against the wall I had been earlier, just as sentries started to pour in.  One, also a healer, moved toward me until I gestured out.  “The ones who aren’t standing first, Seraphine.  You know that.”

“With all respect, Commander, bugger that.”  Her sharp voice still had the lilt of inner Denerim.  “We work for Bree, and that means you and the Inquisitor come first.  Now sit so we can cut that off you and see how bad it really is.”

I needed help, but got down without actually saying any of what was running through my head.  At this point, that was a victory.  “Fey.”

She’d come over: she’d tried to collect the knives that were still useable.  She gave me back mine.  I noticed the one in her wrist sheath was back, as was…one of her boot-knives.  She knelt beside me, kissed me, then looked again.  “Seraphine.”  Her voice was tightly controlled - that was very bad for someone.  “We need to get his jacket off – he’s left a smear down the side of the wall.”

She swore this time.  “Just turn him over, and we’ll cut through.”

“Can’t.” Even I could tell how thin my voice had gotten, now the adrenaline was wearing off.  “Chain in the jacket.”

“Damn.  Ok, Commander, this is going to hurt.  Charles!  Get the Commander out of his jacket while I finish up on his leg.  Jaques, the Inquisitor’s arm needs looking to.  I can’t tell how bad, it blends into the tourniquet.”  She bit her lip as she looked back down, then up at me.  “Nothing major was hit or you’d already be dead, but it’s deep, Ser.  I need to stitch you up  _ now.” _

I nodded, and she pulled out a flask and poured liquid fire on the exposed gash.  I choked back a shout and gritted my teeth as she threaded the needle.  “Just get it done, Seraphine.”At least her work blocked out the pain of pulling the jacket off - and out of - my back.  The mail had shattered under the blow, but protected enough that I only had one badly cracked rib and a deep gash, or so it felt.

Rylen had started taking reports and ordering the former Templars to triage, now that there were enough bows and blades to keep the…enemies?...assailants?..in check.

Fey looked up, distracting herself from the work being done on her arm.  “Wait – Rylen, why is Cassandra not swearing yet?  It was a grazing blow, I thought you said.  But she fell immediately.”

“We…don’t know, my lady.  She seems fine, but hasn’t woken.  Perhaps she hit her head?”

I watched her rub her jaw with her stump in thought, her other arm immobile in Jaques’ hands.  “Wait…a dagger, right?  Was it still in when you got her out of the fighting?”  Her eyes narrowed.  “Away from the assassins?”

He swore.  “Healer!  Othrian, look for the dagger…there may have been poison.”  More profanity, and the dagger was found and investigated.

While that happened, I caught Nathaniel’s attention.  I needed to distract him from his lady, and myself from what the healer was doing to me – especially since the pounding in my head was getting worse.  Everything was tinged with grey, but I had to hold on.  I could hardly hear my own voice when he came over and knelt next to me.  “Three smelled of red lyrium – very faint, though.  The one with the enormous moustache, the red-headed woman and the blonde giant.  Find a way to keep all three separate and contained.”

He pondered a moment, looking out at the blood and churned up grass.  “The blonde was also a Warden, Cullen.”  His head twitched before I could ask the next question.  “I don’t know many of my bretheren, especially not one from so far away.”

“Ask Rylen if he’s Ser Berg.  If so, he could be a lot more dangerous than we have realized thus far.  And you will need to be the one to search the quarters of all three.”  He was the only one present who would be immune.  The world fell away.


	11. ...

I woke in my own bed, Mia sitting nearby.

“Oh!  Cullen, you terrified us!  No, don’t move, not at all.”  She held out her hand as I tried, and failed to roll over.  “They’ve got you pinned down somehow so you couldn’t damage the wounds.”

I could turn my head, move my fingers - that was almost it.  Where was Fey?  Cassandra?  I tried to ask, and a tortured croak came out.

My sister brushed away tears. “They said you’d heal, and wake, but...you’d lost so much blood.”  She shook herself back into her battlefield days.  “You’ll need answers, and a healer.  First, the important things.  Cassandra is recovering - the poison was paralyzer only, she was fine that evening.  Safeyya’s arm is healing well enough, just more slowly than she’d like.  We had to lock Shadow out of the house, he kept jumping up and disturbing things.”  I could watch her running through the list of questions.  “Nathaniel and Rylen said things were under control, and are waiting until you can talk with them.  Oh, and it’s been four days.”

I managed to not try get up again, and swallowed to get rid of the dryness in my mouth.  There was too much happening, and the corruption - I couldn’t afford to have been here four days.  But nothing moved, and I worried when I couldn’t feel anything at all of my legs.

My sister rested her hand on my shoulder.  “I’ll get Seraphine.  And Safeyya”

Fey’s long strides ate the distance from door to bed, Camilla in her arm.  Our daughter reached out for me.  “Dada!  Dadadadadada.”

“Gentle touching, Dragonling.”  Although she was working to keep her voice calm and normal, she couldn’t fool me.  Strain, fatigue, relief, worry, terror...I heard all of it, saw it in her eyes, the set of her jaw, the tension down her back.  She set our daughter next to the bed, and Camilla’s little hands pulled herself up, her hazel eyes staring into mine from inches away.  “Dadadada?”  A chubby palm patted my shoulder, and I smiled at her.  All was good in her world, now.  “Shadow, can you help Camilla walk to the table?  Elim has fruit for her.”  She dove from the bed for the dog, dug one hand under his collar, and toddled with him back out.

“Your arm, love?”  Hoarse and strained, but it sounded almost like my voice.

She shook away the tears.  “Fine.  No stitches, even.”  Her head jerked to the side, looking away toward our window, then back to my face.  The words forced themselves out.  “And you?  How do you feel?”

_ Like there’s a lot you’re not telling me, love.  We don’t hide things well from each other.   _ “It hurts a little to breathe - that cracked rib, I assume.  I’m surprised Seraphine wanted me on my back, rather than flipped over.”

A tear trembled from her eyelashes, then fell.  A whisper around the emotions she was feeling.  “Anything else?”

“No.  Othrian must have figured out pain blocking.”  I looked at the tension along every muscle, holding herself so tightly I could see the effort.  A whisper of fear in the back of my mind.  “It is a pain block, right?”  It bloomed into terror as she sank to her knees next to the bed and hid her face against my arm.  If it wasn’t, then...there was no possibility the slice in my knee could have healed.  Not in four days.  Not in four weeks.  If I couldn’t feel it, then…

Seraphine’s over-controlled voice came from the door.  “No, Ser.  I…” she bit her lip.  When she continued, a long moment later, her voice was mechanical, official, if you ignored how strained it was.  I couldn’t focus on her, just looked at the shadowed hair that spilled over my shoulder and neck, the trembling moisture I could feel against my bicep.  “That mace strike cracked your bottom two ribs, one badly, near where they connected to your spine.  You sword saved that or you would have dropped like a rock then.  But...maces always fragment bones.  And when you fell onto your side, at least one of the pieces shifted.  We...have asked for a specialist, but it will be another week.”

“How bad is it?’

“We don’t know, Ser.”

“You don’t know how long it will take to heal?”

A frighteningly long pause, and then the words were pulled out of her.  “We...don’t know if it  _ can _ be healed.  Ser.”  She must have had to search for words again.  “All we can do is keep your neck, shoulders and hips bound to a plank, so nothing can happen to make the damage worse.”  She tried to continue.  “Your knee is healing well, Ser.  The sword slipped lengthwise along the muscle grain, so the stitches will leave no significant loss of…”  She cleared her throat.  “Ser.”  Footsteps as she closed the door.

The sun had slid out of view before either of us moved.  “Fey,” I whispered.  “Love.”  I couldn’t bear to see her like this.

“I can’t stand seeing you like this, helpless to make it right, left with just...prayer.”  She sniffled as she spoke, her voice low and cracked.

“The last time all I had was prayer, knowing I was helpless...you fell out of a hole in the sky.”  I had to say something, anything, so she would look up.  So I could know she would recover, whether or not I...I knew healers, and healing magic.  Nothing could help a severed spine.  I put that out of my mind as she finally lifted her head, kissed me gently, deeply, desperately, as our tears ran down my cheeks.


	12. Healing

Shouting and chaos woke me.  I slept a great deal - there was little else I could do, despite how much needed to be done - and read stories with Camilla.  She would sit propped very still against my ribs, and Seraphine trusted me enough to free my arms, at least during the day, so I could turn the pages.  When she got tired, she’d curl up into my shoulder, where I could smell the little-girl sweetness of her hair and hold her close.  As she had this time - she wiggled as it woke her as well, then slid to the floor where Shadow waited for her.  I sharpened my ears.

_ “No one  _ is allowed near this place!  Orders of the Herald herself!”  Rylen’s voice was harsh.  Someone was going to lose a strip of hide, or worse.

“They had a passcode, Captain.”  Lilting voice, Avaar?  No, Chasind.  One of the scouts who’d joined early, from the wilds.  I could picture her face, dark with high cheekbones.  Much like Bree, but a pure archer, and with very short hair.

Pacing - angry pacing, then a fist into the nearest tree.  “I don’t care if they had the Andraste-damned Hero of Ferelden, sentry!  The Divine’s guard itself was compromised.”  Rylen had found that out before I woke like this - one of the previous Templars who had stayed loyal to the Sunburst Throne, who had come with Cassandra’s escort last year.  He’d trained with the woman who’d been locked up until we had answers.  Sera’s ‘friends’ had found the red lyrium in his rooms in Val Royeaux.  Not much, but enough.  He’d been loyal, everyone had thought.

The sentry’s voice got more desperate.  “Captain, they had a passcode set privately by you and the Herald herself.  And they have…”

“By me?  I don’t set passcodes, fool!”

“Um...they had a letter from the Commander, that they said you delivered personally.”

My eyes narrowed.  I hadn’t sent many letters with Rylen, because he’d been up...at the…

Rylen figured it out at the same time.  “Wait.  Are they dwarves?”

“Yes, Ser.  They should be only a few minutes behind me.  And they were escorted by…”

“Wardens, yes, I know.  It’s what we suggested.  Ferelden, or Orlesian?”

“Oh, I’m pretty sure we’re Ferelden, right, Liss?”  The drawled voice was clearly from Redcliffe, a light tenor.  I could almost recognize it, sure I’d heard him somewhere.  Then my eyes popped open at the sharp counterpoint.

“I’d say, Alistair.  And yes, ‘Captain,’ they were escorted by the Hero of Ferelden.  Though last I checked, only the Queen had damned my name and despite her delusions, even she doesn’t claim the mantle of the Maker’s bride.  I invited the dwarves to stay near the second ring of sentries, where there was a rather pleasant cave.”

“Warden...I mean...Lady…”  Poor Rylen, I thought absently.  The man was doing the best he could, but this was a bit much.

I decided to get involved.  “Captain Rylen!”  I knew from bitterly gained experience my voice could carry through the open window.  “Please invite Arlessa Amell to join me, and inform Lady Safeyya of her guests.”

“I...I mean...of course, Commander.  Dis...d...dismissed, Sentry.  Carry out the Commander’s orders.”

She froze in the doorway, another Warden at her heels.  The stocky man had a shock of auburn hair, tied back at his nape, and dark hazel eyes.  My eyes widened.  He had changed from the strained, tired but still...innocent man I’d met at Skyhold.  “Warden Alistair.  Alissa.  Please come in.”  If I stayed formal, stayed the Commander, it was easier to hide my feelings.  My helplessness.

They shook themselves, oddly in synch.  “So,” he said in a low voice, “there were more reasons than the shouted one behind the rings of guards.  The Divine is here, too?”

I answered the rest of the question.  “And fine, now.  An assassination attempt.  Corrupted Templars, one also a Warden, we think.”

Her lips tightened, his eyes narrowed, but she was the next to speak.  “And you, Commander, are  _ not _ fine.”

I closed my eyes.  I would not cry, not now.  There had been tears enough, along with rage at fate.  “No, I am not.  But it saved the lives of the Divine and Herald.  It was worth it.”  The two remarkable women who, each in their own way, were the center of my life.  I had to believe it was worth it.  I heard a long breath - one of them, at least, understood.

“May I examine you?”  Her voice was quiet, the sharpness almost gone.  I kept my eyes closed, opened the near hand in permission.

I smelled pepper, and heard Elim’s footsteps down the hall.  “And who are-”

Alistair interrupted her.  “Wardens, and she is a healer.”  He stepped into the hall, pulled the door behind him - it still creaked the tiniest bit just before it shut.

Alissa’s voice came from near the bed.  “Oh.  The fragment...two….three.  Yes, I can see why…”  She started speaking in snatches to someone else - but there should be no one else here.  “Can you?”  A pause.  “Another, really?  He is no mage.”

I opened my eyes, and saw a wisp of flickering color near her.  It didn’t come into focus, but was clearly what the tiny woman was speaking to, leaning on her staff.

“Well.  Please ask it, then.”  It faded, leaving only a ghost of pale blue visible when I blinked.  She looked at me.  “I...may be able to do something, Commander.  The spirit I work with can’t by herself, but you apparently have another one nearby.  She’s seeing if they together can help.”

I just stared.  “Was that supposed to make sense?  I’m not drinking any potions right now other than to strengthen my blood.”

She tugged her flaming red braid in annoyance, swept it over her shoulder.  “I’m a healer.  A spirit healer.”  She nodded at my sudden look of comprehension.  “The spirit that partners me is one of wonder, because people and how they work are wondrous.  But...she doesn’t have what we need by herself.  She thinks there may be enough still alive in your nerves to save, but this would be wickedly complex, and more than we’re capable of.”  Her eyes went out of focus, and the pepper intensified.  “Hm.  That might work.”  She gave a thin smile.  “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that you, of all people, have a spirit of faith fluttering around.”  Her smile faded.  “It is your choice.  We could heal you, we could cripple you permanently.  Given where the other fragments are, if you jerk around too much, we could accidentally kill you.”

It was too much.  I closed my eyes again, against the hope, against the fear, against the new knowledge pouring in.  I thought of Camilla, so sweet in my arms...and Fey, the lines etching deeper into her face as she tried to keep her terror from making mine worse.  Of Cassandra’s smoky eyes, conversations in the night, because I couldn’t bear to think of the nights my wife and I had shared.  “Is there time for Fey and I to talk?”  I already knew the decision I would make.

“Yes.  Though given where the fragments are, and how much damage has already been done, I don’t want to wait past today.”

**

Alistair had gently shepherded Fey out of the room, to sing with Camilla.  The scent of her hair, the feel of her lips against mine.  “Do it.”

“Concentrate on your faith, on your duties to those you love.  There will be pain - try not to move.”  The window was sealed shut, the room uncannily still.  Everyone else had left to go to the main House - except Cassandra, Nathaniel an ever-present shadow, who went to the tiny shrine Fey had built beneath Father Pine to pray.

Fingers beneath my skin, moving around my ribs.  I sank into meditation, remembering the moment Fey had fallen out of the sky into the blasted ruin of the Temple just as I’d asked for a miracle, knowing nothing but the Maker himself could save us.  Cassandra, willing to show her uncertainty through her pride, her need for a Right Hand she could trust.  The army I’d built for both of them, thrown up against one of the Seven Magisters who’d challenged the Maker himself.  I held back a gasp as a line of fire moved past my kidney.

_ Fey’s eyes when I’d helped her with her fears of possession after Therinfall, her eyes meeting mine when I begged for an impossible task so we could save the people, as Corypheus’ dragon circled Haven, a promise of death. _

Another line of fire pulling through my back.  Sheets of it running down my waist, hips, legs, met by agony in my left knee.

_ Cassandra’s quiet voice at the shelter Rylen had created, looking back into the snowstorm and knowing the Herald was lost to us.  ‘In the long hours of the night, When hope has abandoned me, I will see the stars and know Your Light remains.” _

_ I looked up. I hadn’t, in all my time in Haven, except to stare at the Breach. The clouds were less thick, this side of the path. A few stars could be seen, twinkling between the drifting darkness. “It’s not enough, Cassandra.” _

_ “It is all we have, Cullen. Our faith and our trust.” _

Tearing flesh, the ribs cracking in my back, the need to not move.  Blood in my mouth.

_ “And now I must send you to him again.”  I held her in my arms.  “Come back to me.” _

__ _ A sniffle, holding back tears, a shaky long breath.  A light voice contrasting the desperate way her head burrowed into my neck.  “Is that an order, Commander?” _

Pepper filling my nostrils, blood and magic.  Pain, agony, fire throbbing everywhere, blinding, driving out all thought.  No, not all thought.  I would not let it.

_ I would endure.  The demons would not break me, not break through.  I could hear the screams, see the visions they threw at me, taunted me with, visions full of long red hair, sunset hair.  I would not give in.  I would endure.  I. Would. Endure.  Blood and magic rank in the air: Kinloch, Kirkwall.  Defying my own Knight-Commander.  This was NOT what Templars were for.  I would not abandon faith and sanity.  I would find a way back to the Maker’s purpose.  The lyrium cabinet, shut for the final time.  No more. _

A deep sigh, as the magic faded.  The pain pulsed, the blood in my ears, in my mouth, in time with my heartbeat, my breathing.   Footsteps and a wooden thunk, then the chair creaking as a weight fell into it.  Water splashing into a cup, a long gulp.

“Wiggle your toes.”  Her hoarse, cracked voice, too tired to be sharp, but used to command.

The rustle of sheets, the feel of them slipping along my feet.  Tears running down my face.  “I can never repay you.”

A hand on my shoulder, still trembling in exhaustion.  “Don’t.  I couldn’t have done this on my own.  It was your faith that carried it though.”  She tipped her head.  “I’m sure you want to get up.  Here, I can cut you free.”

I took my first bath in a week, unsteady on legs that answered directions but tingled.  So long as I moved slowly, and held the wall, I could manage.  She stepped outside, and I heard her voice, gentle, talking to someone else.

“Caller, thank you and Nathaniel.  Please get Alistair’s attention, and ask him to come here.”  A rasp answered her.  “No.  You know the rules.  You can’t go in.”  Another pause.  “Thank you.”

Getting dressed was a nightmare.  I couldn’t help but stare at the red line of scar on my knee - as Seraphine had said, I had gotten damned lucky.  But the rest - everything felt strange.  The pants itched against some parts, were a fiery rash against others, and then there were the areas I still couldn’t feel at all.  But everything moved, if tentatively, when I asked.  I found my most worn set of boots, gritting my teeth as I pulled them on.   _ This is nothing compared to those first weeks of lyrium withdrawal.  At least I don’t have nightmares, can see.   _ I didn’t know if things would get better than this?  I didn’t then, either.

Alissa stood next to the door, handed me a rough-hewn cane.  Her face was drawn and porcelain-pale.  I wondered how much this healing took out of her.  “Compliments of Nathaniel.”  I needed it.  As soon as I left the level floor of the house, my shaky legs were much less interested in following directions.  Slow, trembling steps.

“Liss?  Caller said - oh!”  Alistair’s voice, shifted from worry to relief.  “Maker be praised.  Rose, my love, you’re a miracle-worker.”  He picked her up so he could kiss her.

“This wasn’t all me.  And may not be done.  But that can wait for later.”  She flicked a glance at me, sheltered in his arms.  “I’m going up.  Alistair’s dealt with spirit healing before - he may be able to answer your questions better than I can.  Sod it, I need a drink.  And a platter of something bloody - I’m tapped out.”

He and I looked at each other as she headed up, leaning heavily on her staff.  I broke the silence.  “So you’ve gone through this before?”

He winced, and nodded.  “Lots.  I had...almost everything put back together again at least once during the Blight.  Broken ribs, torn muscles, a really bad gut wound once.  The works.  As I’ve told Liss...Alissa, it’s a reminder to not do things like that.  Like getting a fork stuck in your eye.  They have to stitch you back from the inside out, and you have to stay aware for all of it.  She knows, though.  Wynne patched her up the same way when she almost lost her arm to a werewolf.”

I snorted.  “It’s...not comfortable, no.”

He gave his cheerful grin, the new scar on his face shifting.  “Like a brick to the face is unpleasant, yes, I know.  I have a talent for understatement.  When I’m not exaggerating, anyway.”

“It seems miraculous.  I wonder why the Circles didn’t train more.”

“You have to bond with a spirit for it to work, or so I’ve been told.  And while I didn’t take vows, I went through all the training.  ‘Trust me, this spirit is a friendly one’ isn’t an argument that goes over well with most Templars.”

I let that pass because it was true.  “What can they not heal?”

“Death and dismemberment.  No, I’m being serious, really!  If it’s dead or gone, that’s it.”  He lifted his hair, showed the half an ear he had left.  “Thanks of Weisshaupt.  Illness is manageable, or poison.  Disease is harder, because they can’t always tell how the flesh was changed, or what it should be.  Complex or multiple anything is hard, just like for normal people.  They also can’t do anything about your head.  Spirits don’t...understand how people think.  They get it wrong.”  He saw my lips tighten, and hastily continued.  “Or so I was told.  Remember, I was at Kinloch after, too.”

“And Kirkwall.”

His face stilled.  “Yes, and Kirkwall.  Either way, I was surprised when Alissa tried for the healing.  Good surprised, but she’s not one to overcommit.”  My knee buckled, and Alistair tucked his shorter, blocky body under my free arm.  “Easy, there.”

“I didn’t…”

“I’m sure you didn’t.”

**

Alistair stepped away as we saw a figure approaching, running sure-footed, her hair just a darker shadow.  “Brace yourself,” he murmured.

I didn’t need to.  She skidded to a halt an arms-length away.  “Oh.  Oh...she said but...oh,  _ Maker,  _ Andraste and her disciples…”  She fell to her knees, hand to her face, shoulders shaking.  Alistair discreetly moved several steps away, into the shadows of a maple.

I took a shaking step, then another.  My knee buckled, but I could brace myself on the cane, and held.  “Fey.”

Her words, still in a strained whisper, tripped over themselves.  “You were gone...I was watching you drift further, and I couldn’t help, couldn’t stop it...and now, to see you, hear…”

“Fey.  I’m here.”  my fingers whispered against her hair.  “I…” I couldn’t deny how I’d lost hope, not to her.  But I also couldn’t bear to admit it out loud.  “I am here.”

Laughing, crying, she pushed herself back to her feet.  “You are.  We are.”  She stepped close, buried her face against my neck, then took a deep breath.  “And if Alissa’s attack on the venison was any indication, you have to be hungry.”  A quick look in my eyes.

I held up my arm - an unspoken request for help.  She understood, knew how hard it was for me to admit weakness, to need to lean on anyone.  “Let’s get to dinner, then.”

She slipped out from under my arm when we got to the door, opened it, but let me go through on my own.  I was able to step more regularly, the ground was flat enough and I’d grown somewhat accustomed to the strange sensations pinging from my legs.  Everyone stopped when I came in, and Camilla, holding Cassandra’s pant leg and begging for more food, turned around.  “Dada?”  She let go and took a rocking step, then another.  “Dada!”  I knelt, caught her before she tipped over, and held her close.  I raised marveling eyes at Fey, who shook her head.

“Good job, little Dragon!”  She knelt next to me, held out her arms to see if Camilla would try walking again.  She did, managing three stuttering steps before tipping over and catching herself on Fey’s stump.  

I ruffled her hair, then decided to try get up.  Alissa had said something about ‘not done yet,’ and I certainly didn’t trust my legs just now.  I grabbed the edge of the table. and levered myself up using that and the cane.  A side-step, and I could gingerly sink into an open chair.

**

I’d eaten two plates of food and Mia took Camilla up to bed, when Alissa looked back up from her meal.  There were dark circles under her eyes, ones that hadn’t been there when she arrived.  She braced herself.  “Let’s see where you are. now, if I may.”  I nodded.  She looked away, and the bright shadows showed again.  I watched as she tickled her chin with the end of her braid, then started chewing on it.  “Hm.”  Pepper as her hands started glowing, moved over me.  “We’ve done what we can for now, but we were trying to rebuild nerves.  Have you ever tried?  No, of course not.” She answered her own question.  “It’s like...trying to put a city back together with three quarters of the pieces, and in the dark.  It - won’t be the same, I don’t think.  And you may still have some loss, but we won’t know for a bit yet.  I need to recover more.  In a day.”

Alistair cleared his throat, and she blushed.

“Fine.  Two.”

Fey met my eyes.  “There’s more than enough to deal with in the meantime, even if she needs an extra day or three beyond that.”

Cassandra nodded.  “The dwarves, the corrupted Templars and Warden...yes.”  She met my eyes.  “Rylen has done what he can, but he does not have your way with getting information.”  A hesitation.  “I...it is good to see you on your feet.”

I couldn’t answer that now, so I looked back at the mage.  “As soon as you’re able, we should deal with the retired ‘Templars.’  I would rather have your assistance for this Berg.”

Alissa looked at Alistair, who nodded.  She turned back to face me.  “Cullen, Safeyya - the dwarves carry the Taint.  It’s...I don’t think it’s anything you need to worry about spreading.  But it’s there.”  A frustrated look crossed her face.  “It’s like Wardens, but not.  I...I can’t explain it, and after everything they faced with Weisshaupt, I didn’t ask.  They came to see Safeyya, here, not be interrogated by a Grey Warden.”  She let out a sharp breath.  “And yes, I’ll help you with this Warden.”  Her eyes narrowed as her voice slipped to ice.  “Weisshaupt goes too far.”

Nathaniel stiffened, but it was Alistair who moved, putting his hand on hers.  “Liss.”

She lifted hard eyes to look at him, then brought his hand up to brush her cheek against it.  “I know, Alistair.  My light in the darkness, too.  But I wonder if I should have pulled the Fortress down around the Order when I had the chance.”

“Well, I’m much happier not being squashed.”  He pulled his hand free and flicked her nose.  “So, I’m sure, are Nathaniel, Cuddles and the rest.”

Nathaniel grunted agreement, and settled back next to Cassandra.

“What’s done - or not - is past.”  I tried to re-focus everything.  “Fey, do you want to divide and conquer?  Cassandra, Alissa and I handle the Templars, and you...possibly Alistair, and a guard with the Kal-Sharok?”

She pursed her lips.  “I’ve met with them briefly, while you were...well.  Before you woke.  They understood that violence had come here and we needed to ‘guard our own House first.’  Dagna came, and has been staying with them.”  She gave a ghost of a chuckle as my eyes widened.  “No, Cullen, just Dagna.  Sera needed to stay in Val Royeaux, for something I didn’t want details on.”

If we were lucky, we’d never need to know.  I flicked my eyes to the Wardens.

The three looked at each other.

“Nathaniel will stay near Cassandra - that way you have a bow at hand, in case there are others you haven’t found.  Yes, Alistair with Safeyya and my staying with you makes sense.”

Alistair seamlessly picked up Alissa’s train of thought.  “Safeyya, I’ll stay in the background.  I’ve learned some about the Taint over the years, but Alissa’s the expert.”  She rolled her eyes briefly.  “If you want another...one or two, the dwarves would probably not object.  They seem to understand honor guards.  They can meet on the Surface, but would probably prefer staying where they are.  Dwarves aren’t much for open spaces.”

Cassandra nodded when I glanced at her.  This time, it was Fey and I who met each other’s eyes.  “We don’t have a choice, do we, Cullen?”

I shook my head.  “Not a real one.  Besides, I doubt I could make it as far as the cave like this.”  Which started another train of thought.

“Most Holy, I...may no longer be able to fulfil my duties as your Right Hand.”  I heard Fey’s sharp breath and saw the three Wardens fade into the background somehow, as I looked at Cassandra.  The years of friendship, of trust...of honesty.  Of faith, but knowing its limits.  I continued quietly.  “I will serve as long as I am able, but you need someone capable.  To be your warrior and diplomat as well as your confidant.”  My breath stilled a moment, but I pulled on my faith and duty to continue.  “Seeker...Cassandra.  I cannot be what you need, not like this.”

She wiped her face impatiently.  “I...no, Cullen, you...are right.  But you are already much changed from last night.  Bree has done well as your second, and can do so while you heal.”  The steel that made her such a good Divine showed as she forced herself to continue.  “Once you...we...know, then we can discuss this.”  At that, she stood up in a swift move, and rested her hand on my shoulder as she and Nathaniel walked back outside.


	13. Wardens, Secrets, and Truth

The next morning, we made our separate ways.  Cassandra offered a shoulder - which I accepted.  I had to be ‘formal’, but kept the worn boots.  For the Divine, I’d convinced her to dress as one of the bodyguard, with a deep hood.  A few of the sentries wore them, so it shouldn’t stand out.  It was a hellish trip.

Captain Rylen met us at the gate.  “Buggering Maferath himself!  Cullen!  I - I thought, I’d heard….”  He cleared his throat.  “Well.  It’s good to see you, ser.”

I felt a smile on my lips.  “I wasn’t dead, Rylen.  And was lucky enough to find another miracle.”

“Brother, you’ve got to be on your last one.  That training accident, Kinloch, Kirkwall - which should count for three, the lyrium, everything you pulled out of the fire for the Inquisition, and now this?”

“And every time, something manages to come through.”  It was more than that, but that was enough for Rylen to relax.  “I do my best not to make it a habit.”

“You’d better.  And this is?”

“Alissa, Warden-Commander of the South.”  My eyes flicked to Rylen, and he understood.  Good man, even out of his depth.

“Welcome, my lady.  I’ll let the three of you take the office.  I took the liberty of chaining Ser Berg.  He’s had lyrium, all three have, but only from our sources.  They may be hurting - we don’t know how different they are, or whether the blue can substitute once the Templar has begun falling to the red.”

“You have somewhere secure enough to separately hold three Templars?”  Alissa’s low voice broke into my thoughts as Cassandra and I led the way.  The Yard was deserted, empty.  I saw Fatima in the armory, another of the Seeker recruits through a nearby window.  Nathaniel peeled off and climbed to the top of the roof - far away, but where he had a clear line of sight.

Cassandra opened the door as I nodded: maintaining her guise as just a bodyguard.  “Lyrium withdrawal is painful, and can lead to madness all too easily.”  Odd how my voice could be both gentle and harsh with remembered pain.  “Some of the retired Templars have also seen too much, and have begun losing memories.  We had one unprovoked attack against his fellows when he forgot when he was and tried to kill the ‘malificar’.  That was in fact a Brother Templar.  For those breaking the chain, it can be worse.  It took me two years.”

She shook her head as I sat behind the desk, tucking the cane out of sight.  In the chair, in my formal jacket, I looked normal, healthy - in control.  I made sure my knives were within reach, and loose in their scabbards.  “No wonder you make it through that healing.”  She chewed her braid.  “This Berg will be able to tell I am a Warden.  Beyond that, I don’t know.  I’ve never seen one of these ‘red Templars.’  Add the Taint and how we process things - you’ve got an unknown threat on your hands.  Be wary.”  Her eyes grew distant.  “Nathaniel was right.  He is the only Warden you have among your...residents.”

**

Berg was as tall as the Avaar, and bulky with it.  He gave a narrow glance at Alissa, then focused on me.  His arms were manacled behind him, but he didn’t seem to notice.  He hadn’t had lyrium today, but I could still pick up the faintest scent of rot around him.  The red lyrium, I was certain.  I hadn’t noticed the smell around the Wardens.

“You are Ser Berg, from the Circle in the Anderfels.  And you have attempted to kill the Divine and the Herald of Andraste.  Your life is forfeit.”

The man gave no response.

“Where did you find the red lyrium?”

No response.

“You lied, poisoned and corrupted your Brothers, and murdered a Sister Templar in cold blood.  You attempted to assassinate the Divine you are sworn to serve.  Have you nothing to say?”  I was growing frustrated, and my voice slipped from the professional to a savage bite.  He was willing to sacrifice his fellows, spit on his oaths, and I couldn’t even discover why.

“You have no right to talk of Brothers and Sisters.”  His voice was cold and harsh, as deep as I had expected from his barrel chest.  “You who murdered your Knight-Commander, abandoned your Brothers and oath so you could lay with the whore who killed the Divine, and place another oathbreaker on the Sunburst Throne.  The Accord was broken.  You have no authority.”

I fought down the anger that sparked from his descriptions of the women I’d sworn to serve, the guilt that I still felt for Kirkwall.  “The Accord was healed after the war.”

“Lies.”

“According to who?”  I was getting somewhere, just not quickly enough.

“I call on the treaties.  You cannot hold me here.”

Alissa, in the corner of my vision, narrowed her eyes as I spoke in simulated surprise.  “Treaties?  There are no treaties that cover traitor Templars.”

“I am a Grey Warden.  You cannot hold me.”

“Were you acting as one?”

Silence, but I could see his lips under his moustache, the set of his shoulders.  He was close.  “The Wardens are declaring war on the Chantry itself?  Are seeking to spread the Blight?”  The words, thrown like knives.  They sank in.

“You dare to speak of spreading the Blight with that outcast malificar standing at your side?”  The calm voice was now snarling rage.  “Oathbreaker, standing with whores and oathbreakers.  You escaped your death earlier, but you will suffer  _ now.”   _ With a red lyrium-enhanced speed that shocked me, he cracked his shoulders, twisting his arms so the manacles were in front...and around Alissa’s neck, holding her on her tiptoes.  “You know how easily she will die for her crimes.  The death she escaped at Weisshaupt.”  His skin pulsed and I saw red crystals come to the surface.

“Down!”  I dove to the side, taking my chair with me as three went past my shoulder.  The other spray, toward Cassandra, I could only hope had missed.  A sharp pain in my side, but I ignored it.  There was no time - and less, as the pain flared in my legs again.  I grabbed a dagger, knowing I would be too late.

Burnt sky, as a grunt came from near Cassandra, followed by a pained hiss from Berg.  It didn’t last long: red Templars, or Wardens, must have some protection against Seeker abilities.  But then the smell of pepper filled the room, and I knew it had been enough.  The sound of a broken plate.

“Face me directly, then.”  Alissa’s voice was labored and harsh - she must have found a way to use magic to shatter the chain.  I inched my way to the edge of the desk, and saw thick, muscled calves.

A laugh, and the heavy weight of a Smite.  “What are you without your magic, little malificar?  You broke free once.  You cannot again.”

She gave a hollow, strained laugh in return, and her voice was the silent howl of a blizzard.  “You have no idea.  And I did not break free.”

A keening broke through clenched teeth and I watched the calves collapse.  Faster, I needed to see what was happening, beyond watching them twitch.

“You think I escaped Weisshaupt?  You are as much a fool as your First Warden.”

“You...have...no...magic…”

I watched her clench her fist as darkness traced the veins in Hans’ neck and arms.  “I need none.  Didn’t that Templar who threatened me tell you?”

A hate-filled glare.

“Answer, or this is only the beginning.”

An animal noise, the red crystals coming to his skin again vanishing into bloody wounds.  “Dead!”  The word came out on an explosive grunt.

Cassandra took a breath, but I waved her back with the hand still hidden from view.  Pulled legs twitching as spiders ran along them under me, stood up.  “Alissa.  Warden-Commander.”  Her voice wasn’t the only one showing strain.  I rested my left hand on the desk, used it to take as much weight as I could.  Her eyes turned to me, and I was shocked to see the black rings around her hazel irises.

There was a long moment.  All I could do now was stand strong, and hope the woman who had healed me was still there.  A rasp in her voice.  “Commander.”

Good enough.  I looked at the Warden on the ground.  “Did Weisshaupt send you?”  He glared, the dark tracery in his skin pulsed, he grunted in pain.  My stomach dropped as I watched.  We needed the information, so I stayed silent and waited.  Cassandra pulled herself to her feet, but also stood back.

“No.”  A keen again.

“Don’t lie to me.”  Alissa’s voice hadn’t shifted from that bitter rasp.  “I can feel the lies.  Can’t you feel the presence along your bones, the whisper?”

I clenched my jaw, feeling like I would never be clean again.  But asked the next question.

**

Nathaniel looked at his Commander, ignoring the body on the floor.  “Alissa.  Are you...better?”

She’d slumped into the corner.  “Yes.  It wasn’t that, it was…”  she glanced at me, then looked back to him.  “It’s complicated.”  A shaking hand to her face.  “And I was too drained to find a cleaner way.”  She dropped her eyes as he kept looking at her.  “Fair.  That, too.”

She snapped her head toward the outer wall, shortly followed by Nathaniel, who bit back what he was about to say.

“Nathaniel.  Stop him.  Please.”

“He’s going to worry until you’re steady.  Pull on us.”

“I can find lyrium.”

He snorted.  “Do the Templars prepare it the same?  Can you take the risk?”

I looked at Cassandra, whose smoky eyes were large.  She had no better idea what was happening - it was like listening to half a conversation.  “Can you ask for some, Seeker?”  I dug back in my mind, trying to remember the preparation, the dosages.  Disciples, I didn’t have time to pull the numbers forward.  “It should be close enough, and won’t harm her.  Double ration.”  That should be ample, but wouldn’t kill her.  I stayed where I was as Cassandra went through the door, seated in my restored chair.  I was hopeful I hadn’t done any new damage, but that also needed to wait.

Dark eyes stared into hazel.  There was something between the two, even if I couldn’t follow it.  She grumped.  “Fine.  Once you’ve convinced him to stay safe.”

Nathaniel inclined his head, and left.  Alissa collapsed.

“Alissa?”

She shook her head.  “I owe you an explanation.  But not yet.”  After another minute, she took a deep breath and her own veins traced dark, then faded again.  I knew the murmured ‘Thank you’ was not directed to me as she levered herself to her feet again, leaning on her staff.

Cassandra came back with the vials, the scent of lyrium filling the room as my body tightened.  The chain was broken, but its shattered links still clung to me.  Alissa passed her hand over them, then drained them both.  I was the recipient of a questioning look, now.

“I will be fine, Seeker.”  I took a deep breath, but met her eyes.

The steel in her showed again, the same that had looked past the lyrium-addled wreck I’d been and seen the Commander I had become.  Diamond-hard faith.  “I know.”

Pepper filled the room again, and I saw the shadow of Alissa’s companion.  “Good.”  Her voice was almost normal, and full of relief.  “You did no serious damage, Commander.”  A pause.  “But you, Most Holy - I need to get that shard out of your bicep now.”

My eyes widened - but yes, there was a thin line of blood along Cassandra’s right arm.  She hadn’t dodged all of the lyrium crystals.

A flush along her cheeks.  “Both of you, remember I am a Seeker - we have some ability to control lyrium.  It is contained.”

Alissa blinked and cocked her head.  “I didn’t know that.  Either way, it’s coming out now, unless you wanted to continue practicing?  Because there is Taint, and that’s harder to contain.”  Her glow strengthened as she acted, not waiting for an answer.  “You’re right in that it’s still easy enough.  If you flex, that should…”  A thin sound, glass against the stone floor.  “Good.  And...please, Seeker, I need to cut out some of the flesh next to the wound.  Taint can only be removed, not cured.  Usually.”

Deep sighs from them both.  Good enough.  “Ladies?”  They looked over.  “We have two problems now.  First, my guess is that the corrupted Templars we need to speak with were unwitting, at least to begin.  Second…”

Alissa nodded.  “Second is me, and what I brought here.”  We all knew she wasn’t talking about the dwarves Fey was meeting with.  “That will be either short, or very long.  It isn’t an immediate threat, though Nathaniel won’t be back for a while.  Which do you want to address first?”

“Seeker?”  This was her purview as Divine - and I couldn’t tell if my reluctance to deal with the Wardens was recognition the assassins came first, or that I did not want to know what Alissa Amell had done.

“Will your secrets threaten us, Warden-Commander?”

Alissa winced.  “No.  Long-term, they must be known.  Secrets...are dangerous, aren’t they, Knight-Commander?”

I winced myself.  “Yes.  Though I am no longer that.”

Alissa’s voice became quiet, almost the girl I had once watched.  “I know.  And...I’m sorry.”

Cassandra, bless her, stayed in the present.  “The corrupted Templars must be addressed.  And we must find out how the lyrium was smuggled in.”

I shook myself.  “Red Templars it is.”

**

The poor souls.  They hadn’t known, had just taken their rations.  Berg chose them because they were younger and full of bitterness watching their Circles fall.  Echoes of memory.  Unfortunately, the corruption from red lyrium couldn’t be stopped.  I dismissed them back to their cells, and sighed.

“Poor sods.”  Alissa’s voice broke the silence, echoing my thoughts.  “The corruption would have made them susceptible to a Warden who knew what he was doing.  There is nothing the Templars or Seekers can do, is there?”

Cassandra answered.  “No.  Red Lyrium is still addictive, from what Dagna had found out, but it also roots in its host.  That is why we needed Warden help across Orlais and Ferelden, to clear it out.”

I looked up.  Templars or Seekers, she’d said - but there was another power in the room.  “You want to make them Wardens.”

Alissa bit her lip and looked away, playing with her braid.  “No.  No, I don’t want to.  But - the Joining gives us immunity…”  her voice stopped.  “Enough with secrets and lies.  The Joining doesn’t make us immune from the Taint.  It gives us a different relationship with it.  It may buy time for those two, but at a terrible cost.  Either way, their choices are death or being consumed by corruption.  It’s only a question of how long it takes.  At best I can give them the chance at a few decades of slow decay.”

“The rest of your secrets.”

“Yes.”  The tiny woman still looked away.  “Yes, and if Weisshaupt wasn’t already trying to kill all of us, they would for this.  For telling you the truth, and for telling you what I’ve hidden from them.”  A snort.  “As Alistair would say, if they’re trying to murder you anyway, what do you have to lose?  The Joining is...I don’t know.  It’s magic, it’s ritual.  And you drink lyrium mixed with a drop of Archdemon blood combined with some fresh from a Darkspawn.  If the Taint doesn’t kill you, you become a Warden.  It’s not blood magic, but there is both blood and magic.”  I watched her swallow.  “It’s terrible.  But...sometimes, there are no good choices.”

I glanced at Cassandra, whose lips were white.

“I learned of other possibilities, toward the end of the Blight.  Even now I can’t tell you those details.  They are not mine to share.  But...after the Blight, I found out more.”  She looked up and sighed.  “Please, stay calm.”  She reached out and opened the door, and a cloaked dwarf came in.  I almost gagged at the stench.  “Caller.”

The figure lifted taloned hands, and pulled the hood from its face.  Not a dwarf.  Genlock.  I had heard of them.  Cassandra pulled her sword.  It didn’t move, and my hand relaxed its grip on the throwing knife.  “Warden-mother.”  A whining rasp.  “They hold no Taint.”

“No, Caller.  And will not.”

“Is not safe for me to be staying here.”

“No, not for any of you.  I am fine.”

I could only sit frozen as it reached out a hand, traced the faint bruises just under her jaw from the manacles.  From the attempted murder.  It hadn’t attacked.  It hadn’t threatened.  This went against everything I had heard of from Mia, from Rylen when he was in the Approach.  From the Orlesian Wardens.  I still couldn’t read an expression, but its actions seemed almost caring.  “You are not fine.”

Alissa’s voice, gentle but firm.  “I do not lie.  They will fade.”  She flicked her eyes at me.  “Do you need the body?  It is corrupted, and….still a Warden.  I can have Caller remove it, and make sure it can’t...well.”

My gorge rose.  Cassandra answered.  “It must be destroyed utterly.  Ideally by fire.”

Alissa looked at Caller.  “If you would?”

“Be resting, Warden-mother.”  She rolled her eyes, but then it pulled out a delicate violet, and dropped it on her lap, and her face softened.  It dipped a talon in the drying blood, smelled it...brought it to the thing’s tongue.  “Middle corruption, but being worse.  We will be taking care of this.  Darkness will hide from the sentries.”

She turned to us.  “Will that work?  Can the body stay in the compound somewhere until nightfall?  Then I can ask Nathaniel and Alistair to help, and they can handle it safe from the corruption.”

“They...talk.  I had never heard.”  I forced the words past the hatred and disgust, and it turned its milky eyes to me.

“We have been Awakened.  Different.  We be helping our Wardens in the deep dark.”  It turned back to her.  “Be going.”

She smiled, and reached out her hand - which it touched, palm to palm.  “Be going, then.  One of us will let you know how.”

When the door closed, she turned back to us, professional again, her voice grim.  “And  _ there  _ is the secret Weisshaupt would burn the South to know.  One of them.  Thanks to...different sources, I’ve put together a frighteningly large amount of knowledge on the Taint.  The Awakened are allies - but ones I don’t admit to very often.”

“It called you mother.”

“He did, yes.  I can’t convince them not to.”

I put the pieces together.  “They are part of how you can dig out the red lyrium.”

“Yes.  It takes much longer, but can infest even a Warden.  With a spirit healer nearby, we can cut it out - but still.  It doesn’t infest the Awakened.  They may not have enough unTainted flesh to root into.”  She met my eyes, and Cassandra’s.  “I didn’t want to tell you.  But with Weisshaupt coming after you even here, you needed to know.”

“Darkspawn are creatures of sin and madness, a Blight on this world!”  Cassandra’s voice was harsh and appalled.  “And you have  _ allied  _ with them?  Do you seek to threaten the Chantry, the Maker’s creation?”

She looked back calmly.  “No.  But I can tell you the Chantry doesn’t know everything.  You have made changes, Most Holy.  You understand.  I take my oath to protect Thedas from the Blight seriously, but that oath also allows all means necessary.  The Awakened are different, as you saw.”

“How can you be so calm?”  I forced the words out.

“With Caller and the rest?  Practice, I suppose.  Time and trust.  To the bigger question, of how I could tolerate them at first.”  She took a deep breath.  “I don’t know what either of you really understand about living in the Circles.  Even you, Cullen, about life at Kinloch.  To be surrounded at all times by men and women looking for a flaw, and your control of your own mind the threat held over you.  I was one of the youngest brought, so only remember Kinloch.  I have no memories of a loving home, of life without minders, without that threat.”  She closed her eyes.  “You have to be cold or hate yourself to survive.  You have to always watch, make sure you can always show the right deference, the right behavior.  To live caged in stone, and only see the sun through slitted windows or once a week, when we were allowed out - and that taken away, when one of my fellows used it as a chance to escape.”  She opened them again, and I was shocked to see they were dry.  “And you wonder why the Circles fell?”

“No.”  I met hers, my voice quiet.  “I remember Kinloch - though I was too young then to realize.  I remember Kirkwall, and its abuses.  I advocated, with Fey, for the creation of the College because something needed to change.  Today, I wonder that more did not fall, and sooner.”

Cassandra broke in.  “The Circles are immaterial at the moment, though I agreed and established the the College.  You have allied with Darkspawn?”

“Yes and no.  They have allied with me, which is different.  They support our aims, not the reverse.”

She wasn’t convinced - but a Seeker still, was willing to ask the questions.  “How can you be so sure?”

Alissa’s lips tightened.  She held out her hand.  “Cut your hand, Cullen, then mine.  Deep enough for blood.”

I used the knife I thought was hidden, and stared at the difference.  Cassandra gasped.  Alissa’s blood, next to mine, ran slow and dark.  She clenched her fist, and a peppery glow enveloped it - then my own, sealing them both.

“With the right knowledge and effort, I can hear through the Taint.  As with Berg.  Any of us can, if we have enough Taint and learn how to use it.  Lies disrupt the song of it.  The Awakened - those who can talk - there are not many.  And are hard to explain.  But I can hear them in much the same way.  Normal Darkspawn have nothing to hear but the Taint and the Calling of the Old Gods.  But to the original offer - I can try make those Templars Wardens, back at Vigil’s Keep.  Realize it’s a different death sentence.  I will not offer without your permission.  I will not put them through the ritual without theirs.”

I glanced at her face, the violet she’d unconsciously tucked behind her ear.  “It brought you a flower.”

She blushed, and reached up to it.  “Alistair taught them that.  Thirteen years - almost fourteen - since I was conscripted and taken from Kinloch, and I still marvel at their beauty.”

I looked at her, then met the smokey eyes of my Divine...and friend.  “We will talk.”

She added one thing.  “Your...allies.  They must all be declared, those here.  And a way to identify them must be allowed.  If they harm anyone or anything, they will be destroyed.”

Alissa nodded her head.  “Of course.  If they harm anyone, I will do so myself.”

“Are we done here, then?”  I was tired, and hurt.  Alissa promised that would start to fade, especially after she was able to attempt another round of healing.  She looked at me, understanding.

“There has been a lot.  Divine?”

She muttered under her breath - I was certain the profanity she couldn’t say any longer.  “Cassandra.  We don’t have time for titles, or formality.  There is nothing else we can accomplish here, is there, Cullen?”

“No, Seeker.  We’re tired, and you need to have that cleaned out and bandaged.  There should be enough for lunch in the cold room.”  I wondered how things were going for Fey, as I tried to process what had happened here.


	14. Allies or Enemies?

She took a deep breath and checked her knives, and the lay of her armor, one more time.  Fine, ‘uniform’ - but its value as armor had already been proven.

“Herald, you should wear real armor.”

Fey sighed.  “We’ve already discussed this.  No.  They are our guests.  This is armor enough, and subtle to keep from insulting.”  Elim finished tying back her hair, and she stood up.  “Shadow’s watching Camilla, along with Mia and anyone at the House, so we’re good to go as soon as Alistair is.”

“I think I just heard my name!”  He poked his head through the open window - the only part of him that wasn’t in armor.  “Ready when you are, Safeyya.”

“Then let’s go.”  She grabbed copies of the maps, already rolled into cases, and walked out to meet with the mysterious, Tainted allies she’d acquired.

**

Dagna met them near the cave.  “Inquisitor!  It’s good to see you...I’ve already learned so much!  They have a way to manage lyrium, and it works on both kinds.  Oh, I’m supposed to wait until you’ve talked to them.”  She turned and led them in, still chattering.  “It’s fascinating - they weren’t surprised at all by what you learned in the Deep Roads, about lyrium and the Memories...and the Titan.  Titans?  There’s so much we don’t know.  I’d never even  _ heard  _ of the Kal-Sharok, when I still lived in Orzammar!  But they don’t answer a lot of my questions, and even the ones they do...well, the answers don’t make sense.  Yet, anyway.  Here we are!”

Fey had long since learned to let most of Dagna just wash past her, but this was all important.  She blinked and looked up at the sudden silence, and saw three hooded figures.  Alistair was alert and watching, but silent.  The silence echoed around her.  Her place, her move.  She nodded.  “I am here.”

“Your House is in order, and all returned to the Stone?”

“Not yet.  It is a slow process, but should be done soon.”  That was true of this time.  How long until there was another?  “We have discovered red lyrium was used.”

“You have a Warden with you.  One of those who brought us here.”

“Yes.  He is one of the experts on the Taint we have.  Dagna is another.”

“Will he listen, or will he demand like his brothers?”

She looked at Alistair, prompting him to speak up.  “I listen, or try to, anyway.  If it is for the safety of all us Surfacers, I will ask before demanding.  And those who challenged you - as we said before, they are no longer brothers.”

One of them grunted, and pulled back its hood.  Greyish eyes looked at them, and Fey understood why Alissa thought of them as almost Wardens.  She had the same focus, the same...sense of repressed motion and intensity.  “Brother against brother can be the bitterest battle.  We know.  We do not yet know which you will be.”

He swallowed.  “I can feel you, but not hear you.  I don’t want to start another war, just stop the Blight.  But I am not the person you’re here for.”

“Stop the Blight, or stop the Taint?”  She looked back at Fey.  “We asked for help with Taint in the Stone, not Blighted creatures scrabbling in the dark.   _ Those,  _ we can handle well enough.”

“The Wardens of Ferelden and Orlais are allies.  My concern is the red lyrium, the madness it causes and its spread.  The Wardens are sworn against the Blight.  I...I do not know how they are connected, other than the Taint.  You aided us against the Venatori and Corypheus.  They could not spread past you.  We offer our aid, both in return and because the Taint threatens us all.”

A snort from one of those still hooded, but that was all.  The woman had become their speaker, it seemed.  “What do you know of the Taint?”

She could feel her speech matching theirs.  “Little.  We guess at much.  We know the Taint first showed on the surface at the beginning of the First Blight.  We know it existed before then below.  The Chantry teaches that it was sin made physical, the Maker’s punishment on the Seven Magisters who breached the Golden City of the Fade.  The Magister we defeated said otherwise, that the City was already black.  We know red lyrium has the Taint, and grows in living things.”  She thought for a moment, and continued slowly.  “I was told that lyrium was the blood of Titans, but don’t understand what that means.”

“So.  More than most Surfacers, and you know what is truth, and what is uncertain.”  A pause as the three spoke in their own language.  “Come.  Drink with us.”

There was water, clean and cold...a beer, she thought, and a collection of mushrooms and meat on a plate placed on a low table.  The three dwarves sat around it, cross-legged, so she copied them.  Alistair followed, clanking and clumsy, while Elim stepped back to stand against the wall.

“You have maps?”

“Yes.  Red lyrium on the Surface.”

“Hmm.”

She explained the colors to the dwarves, their guesses.  “None of this helps if we don’t have the map under the Surface.  The pattern isn’t here.”

She was given winding maps, drawn with strange symbols.  “We think we know.  Tell us what you see.”

“I am not used to thinking in depths.  Give me a few days.”  It would also let her re-draw, re-map...work with the information.

“We must return before we are forgotten.  Keep those.  Contact us when you have your conclusions, and how it ties to the Surface.”  She nodded deeply to Safeyya, and a brief one to Alistair.  “Allies.” a faint smile.  “Brother.  Now take your chatty one and we will go.  That one should never have left the Stone.  Perhaps it will take her back.”

Safeyya and Alistair just looked at each other as the dwarves melted back into the darkness.  Finally he shook himself.  “They were like that the whole way.  When they bothered to talk.  My head hurts.”

She nodded, as she worked frantically to retain every word, every gesture.  Allies.  They’d said allies.  And that they didn’t fear Darkspawn.

**

I found her at the shrine, carefully knelt to pray myself.  The Chant brought comfort, but no answers.

“Who would ally with Darkspawn?”  Her voice broke the silence.

“The desperate.”  I’d spent the afternoon reading the history of the first four Blights.  “Who would Taint themselves to fight them?”

She sighed.  “The desperate.  But desperate does not mean right.”

Adamant.  The Wardens who had allied with Erimond...and through him, Corypheus.  “No.  Alistair is much as he had been, before that last battle.  They are actively helping us cleanse the land of red lyrium - and we can confirm they have independently.  I do not think these ones are being controlled.”  I rubbed my neck.  “Grey Wardens and their secrets.”

“Over one thousand years.  They have kept this one so well, no one even guessed.”

“And it was the only thing that saved Thedas.  Five times, now.  And she gave them willingly, after the Order threatened the Chantry itself.”  We still did not know how involved Weisshaupt had been, but Berg had his orders from there, or believed so.  Given they included Alissa’s death, they almost certainly had come from there rather than by deception.

“I do not want to believe that.”

“The Chantry has allowed them to operate outside its strictures regarding magery.  I wonder if the Divine of the time knew.”  I thought out loud.  “Blight overtaking the land, nothing stopping the hordes, the Archdemon returning after it was killed...until the Wardens appeared from the Anderfels.”

“Are you saying we have a similar threat?  The land is safe, the people are safe.  Unless the Wardens and their war spill over, as it already is.”

“The land is threatened by the blighted lyrium, Seeker.  Nothing we can do can stop it - except through help from the Wardens.  And, apparently, their...allies.”  The words were bitter in my mouth.  “And now, it is being used to corrupt the faithful themselves.”

She sighed again.  “You say I should set aside my disgust and ally with the Wardens despite this.”

I looked at the wooden statue of Andraste, flickering in the candlelight beneath Father Pine.  I had wrestled with this all afternoon.  “No, Seeker.”  My voice was quiet.  “I say you should pray, and question.”  Just as I was - though I knew what I would choose.  These ‘Awakened’ Darkspawn could be killed.  The red lyrium couldn’t.  Therefore, the Awakened could be dealt with later - after we had cleansed the South.

“It is easier to just kill them and be done with it.”

I huffed a chuckle.  “It always is, Seeker.  Easier does not always mean right, though.”

“Please leave me, Cullen.  I need to be by myself.”


	15. Now What?

She was still out by Father Pine when we woke.  “Cullen, what happened?”  Fey’s voice was concerned.

“It’s...complicated.”  To say the least.  “I’d like Cassandra to be present, though.”

Fey just sighed.  “Fine.  I’m going to go back to those maps.”  She’d shut herself in the office the rest of yesterday, asking for privacy.

I caught her hand.  “Fey, love.”  Her eyes met mine.  “Stay.  I’m not...we learned a lot we did not expect, and Cassandra needs to work through it.  Once she has, then we have a direction to take things.”  A moment of resistance then she let me pull her onto my lap.

“Are you sure this is allowed, Commander?”  Her voice was low, teasing.

Like her, I set duty aside a moment to whisper in her ear, my hands caressing her waist and back under her shirt.  “I have it on good authority that so long as it’s not ‘strenuous,’ I am free to act as I please, my lady.”  Lavender, woodsmoke and pine...and warmth, and desire as we kissed, her fingers in my hair.

She was the one who eventually sighed and pulled back.  “And if it goes much further, it will wind up strenuous indeed.  I’ll find Shadow and our little dragon, and we can breakfast while we wait.”

Alissa and Alistair joined us.  She whispered, and pepper added to scent of the eggs.  “Hm.  I may be able to finish up the healing tonight.”  I could see the strain around her eyes as she looked out the window.  “She’s still out?”

Alistair touched her hand, and she settled.  She had changed as much as I, over the years. A piercing “More!” and I offered Camilla another bite.

“Is there more?”  A tired, raspy voice.

Fey answered.  “Of course.  Have my chair - I’m done.”

Cassandra collapsed into it, and a plate and mug of tea appeared.  “Thank you.”  She stirred in honey, and took a long drink.  

I kept feeding Camilla while she began eating.  Once her plate was done, I wiped her mouth, and set her next to Shadow.  “Go to Mia now, you two.”  They didn’t need to be here for this.  Shadow huffed, and Camilla held onto his collar and they went out the door.

Cassandra abruptly looked up at Alissa.  “I cannot condone your actions.  What you do is dangerous, and threatens far more than yourself.”  Alistair stiffened, while Alissa just nodded.  “However...I also cannot condemn them, with what little I know.  You and yours must go, and soon.  Cullen will join you at Vigil’s Keep as his duties allow, to investigate further and report.”  Her mouth tightened.  “You say you know about the Taint.  I need assurances that you and your Wardens...and ‘allies’...cannot be manipulated by another Corypheus or other force, especially since there are still issues with red lyrium, and we don’t know what else.”

Alissa thought.  “I...I think I can.”  Alistair gave her a look, which she ignored as she started chewing on her braid.  “I’ll have to do some further research to find out.  Give me a couple months.”

“You have until the leaves change.  Beyond that, I must know the Wardens are not a threat.”

Hazel eyes met smoky ones.  “I understand.  Alistair, please tell the others.  We leave at nightfall.”  Her attention never shifted, even as Alistair left.  “What you ask will be dangerous, but I think it’s possible.  I’ve been working on it since my trip to Weisshaupt...because you’re right.  It’s necessary.” A final sigh.  “And if I can’t, Most Holy, then kill us all.  You have all you need to drive an Exalted March against the Order.  With the Taint in us, we are too vulnerable to corruption.  I’ll make sure your Right Hand can find copies of all of my research, all my experiments, and the Joining ritual itself.  You’ll need  Wardens if the other two Archdemons rise, but the risk is too much.  Corypheus isn’t the only one of the Seven to survive.”  

With that, Alissa stood and followed Alistair out of the house.  The three of us sat and looked at each other.  We’d faced down one of the Seven, a Magister from before the Blight...and he’d almost destroyed us all.  And now, there were more?

In the silence that followed, Fey spoke quietly.  “And the Seven may not be the only threat.  Or even the worst.”  All of us looked at her.  “I may be misreading the maps the Kal-Sharok gave us, but if I’m not...then we have a huge red lyrium problem, underground.”  She swallowed.  “The earth itself is going mad.”  

**

Alissa returned that evening - long enough to work one final healing.  “There.”  Her voice was flat.  “That’s everything I can do.  The rest is up to you - training, rebuilding.  Everything should be able to come back, if you work at it hard enough.  The nerves are whole, but some things will feel different.  For a while, for a lifetime, I don’t know.”

“Thank you.  It’s more than I could have hoped for.”  She met my eyes again, and I continued, haltingly.  “I will see you this fall.”  And prayed, again, that I would not need to use my blade.  I had a feeling I would have that prayer a number of times yet, as the months passed.

**

Cassandra mounted her horse, and looked back at me.  I no longer needed a cane, unless I had been training.  “I must go.  The other visits cannot be postponed.”  I nodded, watched her seek for words.  “Cullen.  Your orders are simple, for now.  Heal.  Keep me informed, and I will let you know if anything requires your attention.”

I saluted.  Here, I had to be formal.  “Your Perfection.  My second, Bree, is ready for your orders.”  I knew better than to comment on the empty spot behind her left shoulder, where a dark archer had ridden on the way here.  He’d gone back to Vigil’s Keep, with the rest of his Order.

There was nothing left to be said: Cassanda turned, and led her escort into Ferelden.

**

Over the borrowed weeks, I let myself pretend...as did Fey.  We were lovers, partners, parents.  A space to breathe, to recover.  But even with that...we could not forget the coming storm.  I trained, with the Templars.  She trained with her guard.  And the office was covered in papers, maps...letters.  Bull tried to show up, and was told to stay with the Chargers - too much attention we could not afford.

“Stolen moments of joy,” Fey whispered as we stretched out in the meadow, watching Camilla pick flowers under our - and Shadow’s - watchful gaze.

I shook my head, looking down at her.  “No, love.  Not stolen.  Savored.”  The reason why we risked so much - to promise these moments to each other, to the future.  I tipped up her chin, kissed her...and before things could get much further, we heard a shriek as our daughter tottered back toward us, with a fistful of stems, petals and grass for us to admire.  We shared a smile over her head.  Later.  Stolen moments, perhaps.

**

Training - the reactions began coming back, as mind overcame body.  Rylen raged at me - something I ignored.  “You can’t expect yourself to turn back time, Cullen!”

“I have to, Rylen.  I can’t afford to be that slow.”  

“Cullen…”

“Enough.”  He backed down.  I wished I could say more, but...no.  Some things, we had to keep hidden, or panic would start to spread.  Fey’s maps...were terrifying.  The red lyrium would grow faster than we could hope to work with Alissa and the Wardens to root it out.  We heard back from Kal-Sharok: it grew rapidly at first, then slowed.  For now, it seemed to have a reach past which it would not go - but they did not give a reason.

“They’re testing me, testing us.”  Fey scowled at the last letter, but her eyes hadn’t flared with temper.  “Cullen, I’m so close to understanding this.”  Three-dimensional diagrams, maps from the top, from the side…  “I just...wait.  Get Dagna in here.”

**

“More Templars missing.”  I tossed down the letter from Ser Baris.  “I can’t afford to be trapped here.”

Fey’s eyes flared.  “You’re not trapped!  You’re following your Divine’s command, and not being an idiot.  What good will you do anyone if you get yourself killed because you rushed into battle?”  I winced, and she took a deep breath.  “I…”

“No.  You’re right, Fey.”  And it was something I’d known, once.  I knew it now.  “It’s just _ frustrating.   _ There’s no sense to it.  And what I’m hearing from the others...the Knight-Commander in the Anderfels apologized for Berg, said he didn’t realize...he hadn’t been a Templar for years and the Knight-Commander didn’t keep track of yet another Warden.  Zay, up in Kirkwall, insists that all the Red Templars vanished to Therinfall years ago, but..”  But it was Kirkwall.  My responsibility - and Zay’s letters had gotten short.  Formal.  Not like him.

She pressed her cheek into my back, wrapped her arm around me.  “I know.  Trust me, I know, Commander.”  She eeled between me and the desk, arched back to fit.  “We healed a hole in the sky, remember?  Someone told me that, once.  We can solve this, too.”

The spreading Taint, more insidious than the Blight.  No enemies on the field, only shadows and whispers.  Madness, creeping in unexpected.  But her brilliant eyes, soft and diamond-hard in turn.  Lavender, pine and woodsmoke.  Despite everything, she’d never stopped believing...and I felt my faith rising up beneath the fears and need to act.  “You may be right, Herald,” I whispered against her lips.  “We’ll heal this, too.”


	16. Dark Interlude

(Alissa Thierin, Warden-Commander of Ferelden)

Alissa’s eyes had gotten their distant look - she was working on something again.  “Liss?”  Alistair touched her cheek.

“Oh!”  She refocused, looked at him.  “Alistair...I think we have a problem.”

A snort.  “Did Kieran get into the ale again?”

Her eyes widened.  “Again?”

“Um.  Nevermind.  We have a problem?”

“Alistair, who gave your son ale?”

“No one!  No one...at least, no one will admit it.”  He sighed.  “Fine.  It was Francis.”  He couldn’t hide truth - and neither could the young Warden recruit.  Not now that they’d learned how to use the Tainted connections.  It was taking getting used to.  “Sigrun dealt with it.  The problem?”

She sighed.  “I’ve thought more about the Taint, about Corypheus...and about what I’ve seen here, and with our Awakened.  About what I felt at Weisshaupt.  What we need to do, to protect us.  Part of how we do what we do is feeling through the Taint, but there has to be a way to separate us from the broader mind.”  The Cure she’d found...and hadn’t had the courage to use on anyone yet - was more information.  “Some way to protect our Wardens from any other Magisters out there, so I don’t have to have the Divine make good on her threat”  From the Architect - that one she knew still was.  And while he’d been useful, she knew better than to trust him.  “I need to go to Soldier’s Peak.”

“But Morrigan...Kieran.”

She smiled.  “Are doing just fine.  I talked some of this out with her, and we looked at it with Caller and Petal.  But I need more, and that means Avernus.  He’s the oldest Warden I’ve heard of, and seeing how he connects…” she shrugged.  “I’d...like you to stay here, to keep an eye on things.  Let you and Kieran have more time together - maybe I’ll ask Morrigan to join me.”

Alistair pulled her close.  “At least it’s not far.  You won’t be gone long?”

“No, love.  I’ll even take the Awakened’s path, so the mad queen doesn’t know.”  She raised her face as his resistance melted, as he leaned down. 

**

The Awakened weren’t happy, and grew less so the closer they got.  “Warden-mother.”

“Cuddles, what is it?”  She ignored Morrigan’s startled look...they took a lot of getting used to, and her sister-in-spirit had adapted far better than many of her Wardens.

The ogre shifted, then sat.  “The stone is blood-soaked there.  Being dangerous.”

Now that he was only a foot and a half taller, she could meet his eyes more easily.  Hazel into shimmery gold-and-black...but you could make out his pupils.  Another sign of what she’d done.  Uneasiness.  Fear?  She cocked her head, listened through the song in their blood.  Yes.  Something had happened...he was afraid.  But for her?  “Dear, Avernus can’t do anything to me.”

“He lies.”

Her eyes darkened, slitted, all the Awakened tensed, and Morrigan shifted uneasily.  Watching how the Wardens acted...took a great deal of time to grow accustomed.

“Not to me, he won’t.  All of you, stay out.  You’ll hear the call if you’re needed.  Morrigan and I will deal with him.”

**

She could smell the blood and pain when she went into the fortress.  Corrupted blood, Tainted blood.  Her anger rose - but she’d learned back in Kinloch to hide it.  And had kept her skills honed as Warden-Commander.  She needed him.  Then, she’d get answers.

**

“So, I think it will work.”  Morrigan’s knowledge of forbidden arts had been a boon.  “I don’t think that will tie everyone to my life, mostly because the ritual in its original form never did.  And it doesn’t make sense that it would, not really.  The collective has always continued, even after the death of the Archdemon, for instance.”

“It should, yes.”  The wispy man had a wispier voice than before...but she could sense the whine, the uneasiness.

“So I need you to try it.  You’ve got the strongest connection.  Besides, what’s a bit more blood to you?”  She kept her voice light, the biting sarcasm out of it...he felt just a hint, she could see the wariness.  But he couldn’t refuse.

It didn’t take long, not with Morrigan watching.  The cup...Alissa opened her palm, let two mouthfuls fall before Wonder healed it.  A couple drops - oh, Alistair wouldn’t be thrilled, but she understood the bloodlines now - and then lyrium, thin and blue.  Morrigan watched, wisps of the Fade surrounding her, as Alissa and Wonder reached into the goblet, whispered the last of the modified ritual, forced the connections.

“Drink, Avernus.  Don’t worry - it shouldn’t have any negative effects.”

The shadowed fortress - flickering torches almost hid the uncertain swallow.  But she’d set it up correctly, and he had no real choice.   _ Wardens do what is necessary.  You helped teach me that.  Now deal with it.   _ He took the cup, drank as she and Wonder looked on, as wisps of light flowed from her, as Morrigan’s own magic watched and monitored.

Alissa’s eyes rolled back as Avernus’ did, shifted dark.   _ Whispers...the song, shattered and doubled.  A presence in the back of her mind, like her Awakened, but different.  Uncertain, faint.  Connected to both songs...she snapped the further thread.   _ Avernus collapsed as she and Wonder fought against the Taint, struggled to control it, to push it back.  She reached out, her mouth tasted what was left in the goblet...the Calenhad blood, dragon bloodline, warring with the Taint...the key,  _ a  _ key.  A way to control it...control, not eliminate.  Her eyes cleared, returned to hazel.  She took a shaky breath, then nodded at Morrigan.  “Next time, drink first.”  A shaky smile, that the other mage returned. “Either way, it worked.  Just...a bit iffier than I’d hoped.”

“Planning, sister, is a good idea.”

“Planning, sister, is overrated.  Besides, this is new.  There’s no real way to predict things, it’s just...seeing what happens.”  A bright smile, even if it was razor-edged.  “I’m remarkably good at that.”

Shadows of her Awakened in Morrigan’s golden eyes.  “You appear to be, against all logic.”

“And now...to find out what Avernus has been doing here in my absence.”  The razors were all that was left of her smile.

**

In the basement, she found them.  Rusty, rotten, stale air.  Corruption, the dried liquid long since blending into the floor.  She knelt.  Turned over the first corpse, saw the scar across a blind eye.  The corpse next to him, with a white khaddis brand across its shoulder.  Slash.  Petal.  Three others.

_ Alistair paused, looked to the south with concerned eyes.  Other Wardens stiffened, uneasy at what whispered across their spines.  Beneath the ‘abandoned’ fortress, golden eyes, hissed voices, as the rage flowed.  Above, a Warden long past his time whimpered. _

Morrigan watched as the tiny redhead’s eyes slitted and Alissa dropped further into the connection between their minds, the Taint that bound them.  Even with the Calenhad blood in his body, there was no resistance as her veins darkened and shadows spread across her skin.

_ The ancient mage alone in his rooms screamed in agony as his eyes ran black.  “They were Darkspawn!” _

“They were mine.”  Her cold voice worried her sister, especially since she was clearly talking to someone else, somehow.

_ “Corrupt!  Mindless!” _

__ “I spared you for your knowledge, but with one requirement.  And they had minds, spirits.”

_ “Forgive me!” _

Alissa paused, considered as the Taint pulsed against her skin.  “No.”  Her eyes slitted, almost hiding the darkness that creeped into them, from her rage, from the Taint.

_ Agonizing screams, as the Taint poured out of him, withering him.  He collapsed, his back arching as his skin stiffened and tendons showed stark. _

__ The razored edges around Alissa eventually faded, along with the screams.  She closed her eyes, clenched her jaw.  “Morrigan.”  Her voice was quiet.  “Fire, please.”  She would send them, as their brothers, in fire and light.   _ May the Maker accept you as His own.  You had no choice in your corruption, but chose to help against it.   _ Her eyes streamed tears as she held her sister-in-spirit’s hand, and watched them collapse into ash.

“And now?”  Morrigan gently broke the silence.

Alissa sighed.  “And now.  I find all of his notes, and tear this place to the ground.  The Drydens will appreciate that, and the Veil is too weak to use it for anything but what I had.”  She shook her head.  “Oh, my children.  I never meant for you to pay for the knowledge I needed.”  Morrigan watched her summon up the strength she’d relied on during the Blight, and after, to deal with Queen Anora.  “Now, to summon my Wardens.  And the rest of my children.”

**

Vigil’s Keep was full, tents spilling over the grounds, the outbuildings.  Every Warden in the South.  And underneath, her Awakened.  All of them.

“Morrigan.  Kieran.”  She leaned into Alistair.  “I...please, go to Amaranthine.  Spend time with Delilah, or wander in the Wending Wood or something.  Just let me know where, and know it will be at least a few days.”  She sighed.

Kieran slumped.  “You don’t want me here any longer?”  His confusion broke her heart, though watching Alistair reach out with Morrigan to clasp a shoulder helped.

“No, not at all!  We offered you our home, we meant it.”  Alistair pushed his chin up.  “Even when you sneak alcohol.  Or fall through the roof.”  A watery chuckle.

Alissa continued.  “This...is Warden business, and dangerous.  We love you both enough to need to know you’re safe, Kieran.”  The word was still new on her tongue, but old enough for it to be natural - and true.  The boy was a delight, with Alistair’s spark of mischief and adventure, Morrigan’s cleverness, and a nobility all his own.  She kissed the top of his head as he grumbled, then met her sister-in-spirit’s eyes.  Her sister, who knew what she was about to do.  Who kept the knowledge of the Cure, just in case.  At least this time, she had more.  She’d found a High Dragon, one Safeyya had let live on the coast.  And live, she still did.

**

Wardens surrounded her.  The gates to the Keep were locked - only Wardens.  And they packed the great hall, except for the section left open.

“What is the meaning of this?”  One shouted voice.

Alissa raised her head, standing on the small podium so people could see her, still leaning on her staff.  “The meaning is truth, brothers.  Truth, and sacrifice, and oaths.”  She took a deep breath, taking strength from Alistair beside her, Nathaniel meeting her gaze from the other side of the Hall.  “I know how Corypheus corrupted us.”  Shouts.  She slammed her staff into the stone, the  _ crack  _ echoing.  “I will show you.”  Another breath, and she drifted into the Taint in her blood, surrounding her.  Shadows started to trace her veins as she reached out, into everyone within the room.  A blaze of Wonder, of determination, and watched the others respond.  She kept the connection, but let her grip on it fade, her skin return to normal.  She ignored the bitter taste in her mouth - part of the cost of using the Taint.  “We are connected.  Through the Taint, through the Song of the Magisters Sidereal, though not the Old Gods.  Yes, Magisters.  And only one has been killed.  All of you felt his death.”  Shock and silence.  “You did not realize, did you.  But he was not the only one.  I know of at least one other still alive...and where there are two, the others of the Seven may be as well.”  Were.  She could hear the different strains, when she’d drifted too far into corruption.

“What then?  How do we defend against the very thing that lets us protect Thedas?”  Panic - Alistair soothed it, and answered in a casual voice.  “By shattering the connection, of course.”

“Is that possible?”  A woman’s voice - Orlesian.

Nathaniel answered.  “Yes.”

“How do you know?”

Alissa took things back.  “More secrets.  These, you will not like.  Trust me, and wait.”  She closed her eyes, and called.  Her children came up from the basements, into the space left.  Chaos.

“Darkspawn!”

She and a half-dozen of her mages slapped up barriers just as the first strikes came.  At least the disaster of Adamant meant there were not many mages who hadn’t already known.  “Enough.  Listen!”

Cuddles and Grumpy held up their enormous hands.  Caller and the rest bowed before he spoke for them, his voice rasping.  “We are different.  Awakened.  We are free of the Old Gods, and being help to the Wardens against the unAwakened.”

Alissa shouted.   _ “This  _ is how I know the call can be broken!”

A perky, if resigned voice came from near the Awakened.  “And they’ve been responsible for eighty-four broodmothers killed.

Cuddles rumbled.  “Ninety-one.”

“The others don’t count.  We’d almost found that nest ourselves.”

Alistair smothered a chuckle as Alissa watched the argument...but it did as much to settle the initial shock.

Warden-Commander Deanne turned back to Alissa.  “Then what is it you called us for, Warden-Commander?  And why only the South?”

Alissa tightened her lips.  “I called you because that connection must be broken for us.  All of us.  And together.  It’s the only way to keep knowledge from escaping through the song before we’re ready.  As to the South...because for the moment, we are free of any influence, and this is a small window to claim.”  She thought they were, sent the Awakened through all the roads they could find, to make sure the Architect was further away.  “Enough.  You are all Wardens.  You have all sacrificed.  This is one more sacrifice.”  She gestured to the basin behind her, smoking with magic and warmth.  “It is like the Joining, but different.  It shouldn’t be fatal, but will hurt.”

“And how do we know  _ you’re  _ not under some influence?  Clarel was!”

Alissa sighed.  “You’ve heard about Weisshaupt.  That’s how.  Because I resisted the mass mind, and mass song, then.  And because some of this knowledge came from beyond the Continent, where I was the only Tainted creature as far as I could sense.  Yes, I found a Cure.”  Her voice quieted.  “But no, this is not yet the time.   _ That  _ is dangerous.  But there will be no more Final Callings, if the Maker is kind.”  She reached with Wonder, whispered the spell, forced the final steps into the concoction, calm through the Taint.

“Alistair.”

He brought out cups, set them by the basin, filled one.  “Are you sure, Liss?”  His voice was only for her.

She swallowed.  She’d rested days for this, she and Wonder.  “Yes.”  She had to be.

His voice, insistent, carried through the room.  “Join us, brothers and sisters.  Join us as we watch the shadows - but are watched no longer.  Join us as we forge a new connection, break that of the songs of the past.  Should you perish, know you will live on through the connection.  All of us, one.”  He held the cup to her, and she drank.

The blood, the power, the dragon’s awareness of the Taint filled her as her eyes slid black, then returned to hazel.  She did the same to Alistair.  The presence in her mind, the whisper of the two songs...she waited as the cups passed around, as more and more eyes shifted to darkness, as the songs became overpowering.  Drew on her strength, Wonder’s strength,  _ their  _ strength through the Taint.  Her Awakened, who were only connected to her.  A whisper filled the room, as the Wardens began to fall to their knees.  Nathaniel and Sigrun were the last.  They nodded to her as they drank the last sips.

The shouting din in her mind - hands gripped her shoulders, tight enough to bruise.  Alistair, his hazel eyes dark-rimmed, not black.   _ Calenhad.   _ He nodded, and her skin turned to charcoal as she and Wonder grabbed the songs that left the room.  Screams as they ripped them asunder, unweaving the threads, leaving only one song, a pure, clean tone, in the background.  Hers.  His.

“Fight it, Liss.”  A whisper in her ear.  “Come back to me, Rose, my love.”  A body pressed against her, warmth against her cheek.  Her harsh breaths, as she raised her face to see through the bloody, blackened haze...lips, warm and firm, against hers.  “Liss.”  His strength and determination pouring into her.  Nathaniel.  Sigrun.  Cuddles.  Dozens of others, now that they knew the way.  Those she’d trained.  Her children.  Heartbeat by heartbeat, she used the dragon’s gift, their combined determination, forced the Taint back.  Her skin paled again, her eyes returned to hazel.  He watched with concern, waiting for the final black rim to vanish...it did not, but only a hairs-breadth remained.

She rested her head against his chest, like so many times before, trying to not fear what she felt in her blood.  She forced herself back up.  “Connected.  Joined in truth, brothers and sisters.”  Her husky voice was raw with their screams.

“Connected.”  A rustling whisper through the room - connected, but not one.  Each mind still its own.  She breathed a sigh of relief.


	17. Travel

I received a letter, on a raven that shone a too-intelligent golden eye on me.

__ _ ‘Commander. _

__ _ I was successful...at least among the South.  Please come to the Vigil as you can - I must go to Weisshaupt, but we need to speak first.  My resources are yours, to deal with this corruption.  The Taint threatens us all.’ _

__ I looked at the raven.  At the familiar eyes...too familiar, from months at Skyhold.  “Morrigan?  Anything to add?”  I showed the bird the letter.  It shook its head, but cawed disdainfully.  I was just glad no one was close enough to watch me talking to a bird.  That was Leliana, not me.  “A reply?”  It nodded.  “That will have to wait until I can speak with Fey.  If you want to eat, you’ll have to…”

It flew off.  Just like the woman.  But at least I didn’t have to deal with her.

**

Fey looked at me and tensed as soon as she saw my face.

“It’s time.  I need to go.”  I watched her draw on that fire, stand strong.  

“Cullen.”  And she was in my arms, again.  “I need to be there, too.”  She met my eyes.  “The red lyrium.  Everything we’ve found.  Cullen, we don’t have a choice.”  No good ones, she meant.  “And this place is not safe, not any longer.  Maybe, once we leave, it will be again.”  I snarled, and she gave me a sad half-smile.  “Duty, Commander.”

I answered in a low voice.  “If anything happens to you, Fey…”  She buried her head against my neck again.

“I should say the same.”

I looked up at a scratching sound...the raven was back.  “Well, we can let Alissa know, then.”

“Cullen?”  I opened the window, and the bird hopped in.

I spoke to it.  “I will leave in two days.  I need to speak with the Knight-Captain in Amaranthine either way.”

“Cullen?  It’s a bird.”

I shook my head.  “Its eyes, Fey.  It’s Morrigan.”

I could feel her temper flare.  “Then stand and talk to us.  Enough games.”  Her voice was flat - clear warning, even to Morrigan.  She’d seen it before.  

With a wrench and the spice of lilies, the bird vanished, Morrigan perched on her toes in its place.  She stepped off the desk.  “The travel should take a week, yes?”

“Perhaps two.  I may have duties along the way.”

Her eyes were as opaque as ever.  “Do not tarry too long.  Events are moving.”

Fey spoke.  “I need an invitation to Vigil’s Keep.  A reason to come, as well.  Separate from his.”  A bitter smile.  “Secrets, Morrigan...we hide in them, too.  I’m sure you understand.”  Her tongue could bite, when she was upset.

Morrigan simply nodded, and reached into her belt.  “Here.”

The invitation was formal, embossed...from Warden-Commander… “Theirin?” I breathed the word, looking over Fey’s shoulder.  “But the Theirin line...Calenhad’s blood…”

The witch raised a brow.  “Runs in Alistair.  And in my son.  And my sister who married him no longer sees value in hiding that fact, when Queen Anora shows no sign of ruling her own passions and paranoia.”

Fey’s eyes narrowed as she looked at me.  “This is a declaration of war, Cullen.  At least, if I accept it.”

My mind raced.  “Anora has the Mac Tir name, and had sympathy from after King Cailan’s death.  There had always been rumors...but those finally began to fade just a few years ago.  She may have respect, but…”  I remembered from our time at Skyhold.  “She’s never been the sort to inspire loyalty, much less devotion.  The famines that swept through, the first years after the Blight...the riots and the purges.”  I thought more, of the nobles left.  “Maker, Fey, they could do it.  If King Maric’s son appeared out of the Order, was one of the Wardens who saved the land from the Blight, and had your backing...the nobles would turn on her in a heartbeat.  Half of them only need an excuse.”

“Tis not a declaration of war,” Morrigan finally broke in, much as she had at Skyhold.  “simply an acknowledgement of fact.  Alistair is not looking for the Chantry to get involved – his name, you note, is not on the invitation.”

Semantics.  “And Queen Anora’s response, when the Herald of Andraste accepts an invitation from the Warden-Commander, who’s claimed the Theirin name?”  Fey’s voice remained sharp, contrast to Morrigan’s cool and biting manner.

“That, Herald, is the Queen’s decision.”  Morrigan folded her arms.  “This Queen is the one who has sent assassins after the two before – and will again, once this letter is known, no doubt.  They will be equally unsuccessful, as the Queen does not know of the Warden’s…unusual allies.  It is also the Queen who has in over fourteen years, since Cailan’s death, been unable to consolidate support despite being the ‘power behind the throne’ for Cailan’s short rule.  Who has no heir of the body, and has named none.  I heard much, in the Orlesian court,” she continued, answering the unspoken question.  “I have ears, and use them.”

“And it is your son who will sit the throne?”

Morrigan shrugged again.  “Not by my choice, no.  But Kieran…now, he will be his own man.  He is delighted to have a father, and a second mother in my sister.  Should she have a child, I do not know whether his bloodline will be acknowledged, given the circumstances…though given his face, it is hard to deny.  None of this regards the primary concern.  Herald, you have your invitation.  Your excuse.”  She glanced around.  “And a reason valid for an escort, to allow you to bring anyone else you desire.  This was not intended to become the central purpose.  That remains the Taint, the Blight.  Both Alissa and Alistair take that oath seriously, and will defend the land against that corruption above all else.  They have...simply been willing, unlike other Wardens, to seek out new solutions.”

“So long as she actually did free the Wardens.  Otherwise…”

Morrigan broke in.  “I was there, Commander.  And watched, and helped devise the ritual.  As best anyone can tell, they can no longer be corrupted unknowing.”  One of her one-sided, casual shrugs.  “As for knowing corruption, that lies in the heart of all men.  As brilliant a mage as my sister is, she will not take another’s mind from them.  So that threat remains.”

Fey shook her head.  “The only way to prevent deliberate plotting is to kill everyone.”  She looked at me.  “Thoughts, Commander?”  Her opinion was clear, to someone who had worked with her for so long.  Worked under her command.

“Herald, we ride.”

Fey looked at Morrigan.  “Expect us in two weeks.  With the escort appropriate for the Herald of Andraste.  Do you need anything else before you go?”

She shook her head.  “No.  Til then.”  A brief sharp nod of her head, and the raven flew back out.

**

It took both days to put together the escort – much larger than I had hoped for.  Elim, of course.  Othrian.  Six others of the guard and sentries.  Enough to handle anything on the road.  Ideally few enough to keep from aggravating Queen Anora’s paranoia – though there was little she could do, as we both fell under the Chantry’s protection.  And should all go wrong, enough to at least get Fey out, should Alissa have failed and the Wardens...not something I wanted to consider.  Despite this, and the size of our party, Fey and I elected to travel as ‘casually’ as possible.  While the Divine’s crest was on our cloaks, little else would identify us.

A raven to Cassandra, to let her know.  And to promise her a follow-up within the month, or to assume we were lost.  Fey snorted as she read over my shoulder.  “A bit dramatic, don’t you think?”

I shook my head.  “You’ve led before.  You still do.  She does not, cannot, trust the Wardens, but has no choice.  For Cassandra, the promise will calm her all-too-reasonable concerns.  And we’ll send her that letter, either way.  I have ravens, and I know her route.  If I have to, I can send one of our escorts.”  I pushed the hair out of my face.  “Between the two of us, we should be able to tell what’s happened there.  We were both at Adamant.”

She nodded, resting her cheek against my back.  “We will.  We also have Othrian, who’s turned into quite the creative mage himself.  It’s just...Darkspawn?”  I’d told her everything, of course.

**I sighed.  “‘Unusual allies,’ as Morrigan put it.  But they don’t _act_ like Darkspawn.  Or didn’t.”  It was frustrating.   _Nothing_ was certain, any longer, beyond my oaths.  “We’ll have to warn the escort, once we’re on the way.  And hope Alissa was right, and they are free.” **


	18. To The Vigil

In Denerim, I had to stop by the Grand Chantry.  The Grand Cleric here, newly appointed by Cassandra, was uneasy dealing with the Queen and politics.  Her eyes opened wide as we walked into the Grand Chantry. “Right Hand! Herald? Here?”

Fey made a calming gesture as I spoke, pulling my hood down.  “Grand Cleric. Our apologies for startling you - we were passing through on the Divine’s business.”  At least we’d come at an hour where the Chantry was almost empty - no one had heard her exclamation. “We continue on, toward Amaranthine and beyond.  Have you any concerns, or any messages I can carry for you?”

“Oh!  Yes, I had a letter to send to the Revered Mother in Amaranthine...I’d forgotten to send it with Ser Thomas, when he headed out.  But...no, nothing significant. Amaranthine - the city, or are you going to visit…” her voice dropped slightly, “the Wardens?”

“You speak of them with worry, Mother.”  Fey’s voice was questioning. “I had thought to, yes.  They, like the Orlesian Wardens, were helpful against Corypheus.  If we are close, it would only be courtesy to do so, especially as the Warden-Commander had sent an invitation should my health and travels allow.”

The woman shuddered.  “They’re uncanny. And they were all here, weeks ago.  Travelling through. And then, days later, they left, the Orlesian ones.  I know that they saved the country from the Blight, but there’s something off about them.  You can see even the Queen, despite what they’ve done for her, is uneasy with their power here.”

I met Fey’s eyes.  “Then perhaps a visit is more important than you had realized, Herald.”  I spoke for the Grand Cleric, and knew my wife understood. That if Queen Anora had stirred this much sentiment against them, we needed a better reason than the invitation to be there.  “And for me to have information to bring back to the Divine.”

She simply returned with a faint, “Indeed.  I met the Warden-Commander once. She seemed - focused on duty.  Protecting the land and people from the Blight and all that comes with it.”

I nodded decisively, and bowed deeply over the Grand Cleric’s hand.  “Mother, you have been more helpful than I could have imagined. And based on your news, we cannot afford to tarry.  As Lady Safeyya says, I have also met the Warden-Commander, and have seen only that. In the other Wardens under her command, the same.  Dedication to their oaths to the people and land. Have you heard anything beyond uncanniness? That could simply be unease at the reminder of the Blight…”

She shook her head.  “No, Ser. Nothing else - and you could be right.  I was not in Denerim during the Blight, did not see the Hero and her companions when they fought Urthemiel.  The city - it is hard to forget such horror. The few I have spoken to have certainly been focused.” There was a hint of doubt in her voice.  Good enough.

“With that, I’m afraid we must take our leave.  There are enough miles yet to go.” I bowed deeply and Fey nodded.  The Grand Cleric returned the courtesy.

“Andraste guide and guard you, Right Hand.  My lady - continue listening to her voice.”

Fey spoke last.  “Our thanks, Grand Cleric.  Andraste’s grace on your and all under your care.”

**

    We spoke once we had the privacy of the road again, our camp just off of it.  “What was that about?”

    I considered.  “The uneasiness?  The uncanniness? It seems that so many years after the Blight, Queen Anora’s gratitude is wearing thin.”

    “Had you heard anything like this outside Denerim?”

    A shake of my head.  “No, Fey. Nothing. Only appreciation for what the Hero - and the Wardens - had done.  Some concern about them having vanished around the Breach, but it seems to be assumed they were supporting you...the Inquisition...to fight it.”

“But...not in Denerim.  At least, not among the powerful?”

I sighed, too tired of it all to tense at the warning in her voice..  “The game of thrones is not for us any longer, Fey. Not if we don’t have to.  We have more than enough to worry about as it is.”

    She glared for a moment longer, then relaxed into my side and blew out.  “It’s hard to remember, sometimes. But you may have a point. The red lyrium is enough to deal with.  When you add in the corrupted Templars, and Northern Wardens now, plus the usual Chantry politics…”

    I tried to chuckle.  “But this time, we have the Chantry behind us, the Southern Wardens and a network already in place.”  So long as the Wardens weren’t vulnerable. So long as nothing happened to the Divine.

    She started softly, barely more than a breath in the wind.  The Chant, her rich alto giving it a depth I normally didn’t find outside the Chantry.  I added my voice to hers, and our escort did as well as the words swelled. And with her pressed against my side, the song of Andraste herself around us, I found comfort.  Again. And we all slept under the stars, the escort trading watch until dawn, when it would be time to ride again.

**

    I first went to Amaranthine, and the Grand Chantry, to pass on the message from the Grand  Cleric in Denerim. And discovered the Templar had not reported in. My eyes narrowed. “You’re sure, Mother?”

    Her voice was tart.  “Positive, Ser. As you may be aware, Templars are hard to miss.  And not many come up to Amaranthine, not after the Arling was given to what many considered an apostate mage.”  Her eyes wrinkled. “Who managed to save the city when the Darkspawn kept coming, and has kept things quiet since.  We have no complaints, especially with the Howe children grown well, and Delilah the senechal out at the Vigil.” She nodded.  “Yes, they have done well. And that Alistair is as impressive as she said - the three are a good team. Solid, and care for the people.  No matter the rumors about them, Amaranthine knows better. Thirteen years of Warden rule, and the Arling has prospered...and the Chantry, as well.  Wardens are often here at prayer, though a smaller chapel is out at the Keep. I initiated one of their own just two years ago.”

    Messages upon messages.  “You are saying, Mother?”

    “That, Right Hand, this Chantry and city know better than to listen to wild rumors from further South.  If anyone would see their uncanniness, it is us. And whatever the Wardens have been, they have protected us well.”  She considered. “I married them, you know, eleven years ago. Ten? Some time ago, now. Time gets harder to follow, the longer it’s been.  Sweet children, whatever the world has made of them. They have their secrets, but Wardens have always had those. And we have seen the darker secrets here, before the Blight.”

    It was all I could do to keep my face from showing a reaction.  Then again, I remembered the Blight, remembered the stories of Rendon Howe, the sadistic second to the Traitor Mac Tir.  It was possible that talking Darkspawn  _ weren’t  _ as bad as the stories his Arling had to say about him...and that was something that, thank Andraste, I didn’t have to consider.  “Then I’ll continue to Vigil’s Keep, Mother.” I gave her a smile, and she patted me on the cheek.

    “Good man.  Blessings of the Maker on you, and on the Divine.”

**

    Wardens met us a half day out from Vigil’s Keep.  Two on the road, though now in straight blue tabards rather than the blue and silver from before this breach with Weisshaupt.  Fey focused out, and I saw the first of the shadowed figures...three, staying deep in the woods. The Darkspawn Alissa had called Awakened, most likely.

    “Our other escorts won’t join us?”  Her quiet but pointed question made the young man now riding next to me flinch.

    “N...no, your Worship.  Warden-Commander’s orders.”

    The other added in a more easy voice, “The Taint, I’m sure you understand, Ser Cullen.”  He met my eyes - yes, they knew what was out there. And were comfortable with them, but...were unwilling to share more than Alissa allowed.

    I gave a nod, but that made me remember.  “The Templar who came here, to join the Order…” one had been willing to risk the Joining.  The other had asked for death.

    They both went silent.  Then the second one spoke again.  “I’m...sorry, Ser.”

    Fey reached out her hand, touched mine where it rested on my thigh.  I sighed.

    “She was brave.  And will be remembered as a Warden.  It...the Warden-Commander thinks it had to do with her condition.  That it interfered. Since she started allowing the Joining again, we’ve lost few.”

    The young one burst in.  “She’s  _ allowed  _ few!”

    “Be grateful for that.”  The older one’s voice gave a harsh reprimand.  “Everything is different, after.”

    So.  Not all Wardens had gone through this Joining ritual.  Alissa may be confident, but was still being cautious. Or respectful.  Or she had her own purposes. With her, I could never be sure of anything - the way she’d hidden her strength in Kinloch still took adjusting to - but for her determination to keep her oaths and her curiosity.  Everything I had seen and heard of her, those two constants were present.

    When we reached Vigil’s Keep, I looked it over.   _ This  _ fortress would not be breached as easily as Adamant.  Small, but solid. Well-designed, excellent materials, ready against modern siege equipment.  I shook my head - I was the Commander of the Inquisition no longer, and if an Exalted March was called, I would not be at its head.  The shadows at our flanks had vanished, and the gates were open wide.

    “Those tubs of vegetables - what is wrong with them?”  Fey gestured, and I glanced over. They were pale, almost wilted compared to the crops near ready for the harvest we’d passed just outside.

    Alissa’s voice sounded out.  “Those, Safeyya, are one of my proudest achievements as Warden-Commander.”  Her sharp voice was excited as she stood - she had been working in one of them, her braid covered by a cloth, and in mud-covered trousers.  She smiled, and wiped more dirt across her cheek. She seemed more pale than when she was out this summer, but perhaps it was the light. “You see, they’re growing - in what had been Blighted soil.”  Safeyya gasped as I started.

    “Are...forgive me, Alissa, but are you certain?”  I remembered passing the devastation of Lothering, the terrible stench and dead zone around Adamant.

    She nodded.  “Yes. These tubs are from Ostagar itself, and Lothering.”  She gestured. “I don’t know yet if the plants are edible by any but Wardens, or how much more work it will take, but…”  Her head turned as Alistair walked out of the fortress, and she smiled. “But you’ve been riding all day.”

    Wardens took our horses, and Fey and I headed in with a glance at each other, Elim on our heels.  The others of the escort stayed outside.


	19. The Awakened

    “Fey.”  I didn’t know what I was asking, as we settled into the room given us.

    She sighed.  “I...it would be easier, if she didn’t insist on upending everything.”  A chuckle. “I suppose the same could be said of us, though.”

    I held her close.  “We didn’t made deals with Darkspawn.”

    “No, Cullen - we deposed an Empress and upended the Chantry...and accidentally unleashed an elven god.”  I had to chuckle at her tart voice. “Curing the land - that, we need. You know that, what Ferelden has suffered.  And our only purpose here is to build closer connections and confirm the Wardens - and their allies - are no threat to the people the Chantry serves.”

**

    Alissa looked up as we came down the next morning.  So did Nathaniel, Alistair and two others. The similarities were uncanny.  Alistair just smiled as Alissa said, “Part of being a Warden, I’m afraid. And more...intense, since I freed them from the Songs of the Magisters.”  Alistair gave her a glance and she shook her head. “Yes. Too much, and too cryptic. Come with me, please.”

    Alistair joined us, Nathaniel merely giving a nod before we stepped deeper down.  “The basements,” he commented. “Dark and dreary, but quiet. And they go a lot further down than they used to.”

    A brief flare of pepper, and Alissa’s staff glowed faintly.  “I’m making an assumption. The issue isn’t that we’re Wardens, it’s the Awakened.”  She shrugged. “We’ve had years to grow accustomed to them and see their value. You haven’t.  Some of it, we can discuss - but if you want to talk to them, it’s easier down here. You can’t get too close, because we’re still not exactly sure how the Taint spreads, but they’ll do their best to keep you safe as well.”

    “How did you come across talking Darkspawn in the first place?  I’d never heard of them. And then, to trust them?” Fey was still suspicious, but willing to consider odd allies.  We’d certainly had enough of those, and with the Kal-Sharok, she was already accepting Tainted support.

    Alissa sighed.  “That, Herald, is a much longer conversation than we have time for.  And...complicated. The short version: another Darkspawn, possibly one of the Seven, was making them.  Some went insane, and there was a war within the Darkspawn, with the Vigil somehow as the prize. Ugly business, that.  The insane ones, we killed - but with the support of the others. And after, some broke with the Magister to stay allied with us.”

    “Because you, my dear, treated them like people.”  Alistair’s voice was serious and tender. “The luckiest thing you’ve ever done, perhaps?”

    She chuckled back, her voice just as tender.  “From a strategy perspective. From another, getting caught up with a blood mage and tossed into the Wardens.”  She shook herself. “Back to why you’re here. They supported us. Between them and other research I...had access to, I was able to mimic the process of Awakening.  It works best - or only - on Darkspawn in their larval state. I never tried it on the others, those we kill on sight. At this point, most of the Awakened are those - the past decade or so has not been easier on the Awakened than on anyone else, and there were only about a dozen who...gave their loyalty.  So we don’t need to fear their loyalties being divided between creator and ally.”

    I shook my head.  “How could you have grown accustomed to it?  Perhaps you, Alissa, being there at those times, but Wardens are sworn to destroy Darkspawn.”

    Alistair spoke again, turning back to face us.  “Ah. The tough question. I found out after coming back from Orlais - and, well.  If I hadn’t already had to trust her on other strange magics…” the two shared a private look.  “Anyway. I met the first when they saved me from a set of assassins, with Nathaniel. So they were already clearly supporting Alissa as Warden-Commander.  And as much as I’m against Darkspawn, they’ve proven their worth. We’ve killed dozens of broodmothers we’d never have found without them. Mapped Darkspawn tunnels, found clusters of them beneath the Surface.  There’s a reason there were so few incursions, and all of  _ those  _ were close to where there was red lyrium, we think.  We hope, anyway. Or they were driven by the False Calling pushing them further out, back into areas we’d cleared.”  He shrugged. “Either way, they weren’t affected by the False Calling, and just kept Wardening for the Wardens, when they were all called to Adamant.”  His face tightened at that, and Alissa’s back stiffened.

“Poor sods.  And neither of us knew enough before I left to protect them.”  She hissed.   _ “Damn  _ Weisshaupt and their secrets, and their certainty.”

“Liss.” Unusually, his voice was stern.  “We talked.  Even Nathaniel agrees we don’t have enough Wardens between Adamant and the Vigil.  Not to deal with this, and the red lyrium.  You said yourself, most of the Wardens there should be persuadable.”  His voice lightened.  “Besides, you might as well be a Magister yourself, with what you know of the Taint compared to them.  Helpless before you, you’ll see.”

I caught a glance of his face - and how his eyes narrowed when that didn’t get the lighter response the Warden had been aiming for.  Time to change the subject, perhaps.  “Broodmothers?”

At that, Alistair looked at Alissa’s even stiffer back, and glanced at Fey.  “Well...that’s pretty ugly.”

Alissa’s voice was harsh, this time.  Something about the creatures bothered both of them, despite their comfort with their talking Darkspawn.  “The short answer: Darkspawn are like insects.  A broodmother is...a queen?  Except she doesn’t seem to control them, is just a mindless breeder.  And all you need to know beyond that is to kill any woman you can’t save in the Deep Roads.  Any broodmothers we find, Warden or Awakened, we kill.”

Fey and I exchanged a glance, but she shrugged. The reasoning was sound enough, I had to grant.  Though the comment of ‘strange magics’ reminded me far too much of Kinloch, and Uldred…and the scars and nightmares I would still occasionally have. “We will see.”

It wasn’t much further when we reached the basement. With a quick gesture, Alissa transferred the glow from her staff to the lanterns around the walls. As the light strengthened, it gradually stopped feeling like one of Varric’s terrible novels…until I focused on the three figures on the further side, where a sloping path led further into the earth.

Two were tall, and the other…the other was the Genlock I had seen before, still wearing the disturbingly bright yellow shirt. They smiled toward Alissa, and I felt Fey’s arm tremble against mine as she fought to contain a shudder. But her faith…it was strong enough for her to speak.

“Hello?”

Alistair chose to speak. “Caller, and Mischief, and Boggart.” He shrugged. “They choose their own names, after a time. I still haven’t figured out the last, and he won’t share.”

A rasp from the third. “Of course not. Sharing would be spoiling the game, Dragon-Warden.”

He sighed in mock-sorrow. “And yet, they refuse to use our own, more often than not.”

“Is it only the Awakened who have names?” Fey’s voice was curious, though I could still hear the horror threaded through it. With luck, the others would not.

Caller, if I remembered correctly, answered. “Not all, but yes, Herald. You are Herald, yes? The one who sacrificed, against the Other Song?”

I watched her close her eyes, longed to pull her close – but not now. After a moment, she answered, low. “Many sacrificed, but yes. I am called Herald.”

Time to change the subject, back to these creatures. “You said not all the Awakened have names? What makes one Awakened? What decides a name?” As odd as it was, surreal like little had been since I’d freed myself from the Lyrium, we had to know. We had to understand them enough to make a determination.

“Awakened? That is from the Old Song – or was. Those are all gone, now. The only Awakened are from the Warden-Mother, her Song, her curiosity and…loving? Yes, being from her compassion.” It nodded, its voice lower than Caller’s had been. Boggart? What sort of a name was that? “It is difficult to be explaining. There was hunger, and the Call, but no words, no understanding, just the Calling, singing loud. And then, another song being sung, and taste on the tongue, and…and words, and we could understand the songs we heard, could ignore the Calling because it no longer Called?” It tried to shrug – one arm failed to move up.

Caller spoke then, as though from the same mouth. “The Connecting is still there, just not to the Calling.  Not to those who cannot hear the Mother-Song. In time, a word will feel right, will fit? The Warden-Mother was giving mine, long years ago, by Warden time. Many hunts, many nests. The Dragon-Warden has given some. Others from the Warden-Lord. The Drawn-Wardens do not speak to us, so we have no names from them. And the last Awakening, since the Song was strengthened, began choosing their own, with no Warden speaking.”

“Why? Why do you hunt your own?” Fey kept asking questions.

“They are not. They are nothing, vessels for the Calling, for the rage. Connecting so strong because there is being nothing else.” Finally, Boggart stepped forward. “Warden-Mother? Please, more light?”

Alissa’s eyes narrowed, but the light grew stronger.

“Being careful. Please, do not be touching, but come closer and look.” It spoke harshly – but that may have just been its voice. The creatures – how odd, they almost did have personalities.  

I stepped closer, keeping myself between it and Fey, trying to keep my hand from hovering too closely to my sword. It didn’t hold a weapon, but with the sharpened talons at the end of its fingers...and it drew one across its own arm. Liquid welled...blood? Red-black in the light, sluggish, but...not matching what I’d seen at Mythal’s Temple, so long ago. Not aligned with the stories of cold black ooze, corruption and sin. It quickly stepped back. 

“Being further, please. The Taint is...please, being away from us.” The blood hadn’t dripped - it had been...careful? The wound gradually sealed as we stared, as Alistair pulled us further back. 

“Maker,” he breathed. “Boggart - that almost…” 

When I glanced over, Alissa’s face was white and taut. That’s what it had looked like - her blood, when she’d asked me to slice open her hand to show us the true cost of a Warden’s oath. The Darkspawn all shifted uneasily, and Alistair turned...as Alissa got control over her face. “Not now, Alistair,” her sharp voice was quiet, pleading. 

“No more secrets, Liss.” She sighed, and I knew I should turn away, shouldn’t see what passed between them. But I had my oath, and only Andraste knew whether this would play into what I needed to know. 

“Alistair.” 

His voice grew biting, not losing that serious edge. “And if we both cut our palms, Liss? What are you trying to hide?”

Her voice was a mere whisper. “What is the hardest thing you’ve ever done, love?” He turned away. 

“For now, Liss.”

“Warden-Mother.”  This time, the distraction came from Caller.  “Be needing more khaddis.”

Ah.  That was why the smell was more familiar than I’d expected.  These Awakened used the same warpaint as mabari - I suppose I could see the logic in that.

Alissa nodded, but Alistair spoke.  “Hans is finishing a batch.  You’ll hear when it’s ready.”

They nodded, before Boggart spoke again.  “The Herald, Blade - you fight the Blight, the spreading?”

Fey blinked.  Alistair sighed.  “They...they hear more than you’d expect.  Then they spring it on you.”

After a moment, Fey turned back toward it, but didn’t have the chance to speak.  “I will be helping the Herald.  Snow-song, star-song.  Remembering.”  It nodded.  “We are against the spread through the earth below.  Oath-bound.  Taint must not spread.  Too much, too far.  Disaster.”  I shivered at its certainty.  “Following you.”  Then it glanced at the shocked Wardens.  “Must attempt, Warden-Mother.  I cannot be spreading Taint.”

“Boggart.”  Alissa’s voice was sharper than usual, with worry.  “I haven’t attempted…”

“Volunteer, Warden-Mother.  Necessary.”

Her jaw clenched and Alistair pulled her against him.  “We will call, Boggart.”  His voice ended that conversation, and he spoke more quietly to the diminutive mage in his arms.  “Come on, Liss.  We’ve been down here with unTainted long enough.”


	20. Uneasy Allies

Fey just watched as I paced our rooms, leaning against the wall.  “Andraste’s mercy, what is this?”  I ran a hand through my hair.  “They were strange enough at the Farm, but this...what are Wardens, and why are they so different?  It’s like hearing half a conversation!”

“They don’t seem to need words,” she mused.  I stopped, startled, as she continued.  “Bree trained her cohort to exhaustion, and like the Chargers they could almost anticipate commands.  But this is...stronger, different.  They still need words, though, Cullen.”

“They spoke of songs, and connecting.”  And strange magics.  “Didn’t Alistair say how Corypheus had Called the Wardens of the South through the Taint, back at Skyhold?”  Blood.  It came back to that, I was certain.  Blood and magic and Taint.

I watched her Breach-green eyes narrow, and knew Fey had followed the same train of thought.  “Yes, but there isn’t control.  Connection, free of control?”  She started pacing herself, hand rubbing the scar where her left arm stopped.  “That’s it.  Blood and magic, but ritual, not blood-magic.  There is no control.  Emotions.  They can pick up emotions.”

I thought back.  “Alissa could tell Berg was lying through the Taint, but couldn’t force the truth.”  Except through pain.  Fey stared.  “Maker.  I must have forgotten to tell you that.  And she could also tell when Nathaniel and Caller were close.”

“Alistair mentioned being able to feel but not hear the Kal-Sharok.  Songs, connection...connecting through the Taint.  Yes.  Like a spider in a web.”

Not a comfortable analogy.  And one that didn’t seem quite right.  “Except it only works with the Taint.”  I stared out the glass-doored balcony, at the brilliant blue sky.  Lyrium-blue, we’d called these days in Kirkwall.  Clear and calm, when the world was ready for anything.  Lyrium.  Why did that, and the Templars… “Like the Templars, but not, sensing magic.”  As I could, still.  “Perhaps.  The Joining, she said, involves blood, and magic...and the Taint.  And breaks something, but they can sense the Darkspawn.  Sense, but not control.”

“That’s it!  Then this Awakening...no, they already are Tainted.  But magic must still be involved.  Breaking the Calling, somehow.  They talked about the Old Song, the Other Song - how they referred to the Seven?  But they also talked about Alissa, and her song?  The Wardens’ song?”

It was like trying to build a puzzle with half of the pieces.  “Lyrium had a song.  I could almost hear it, some days.”  Fey reached out for my hand, then.  I brought her fingers to my lips, but the yearning was thankfully gone.  “That must be it.  Insects, but not.  Magic and blood - but nothing here feels like blood-magic.”  Surely after Kinloch and Kirkwall, I could still identify that.

“And corruption, like rot and disease.  The Taint.”  Fey stared.  “Cullen, she was seeking a Cure, why they couldn’t find her and have her at the Conclave.  What if she found it?”  She took the next step.  “Andraste protect her, she’s tried it on Blighted land.  What would it do to a Darkspawn?”

_ That  _ was what Boggart had been hinting at.  Somehow.  Volunteering...and she had no idea if it would work.   _ Blasphemy.   _ I shook off the whisper.  “The Chant says the Seven were Tainted by their sin, their pride and greed in their attempt to claim the Golden City.”

She half-sat on the table, crossing her ankles and going back to rubbing the thick-ridged scar of the amputation.  “‘Their sin became a Blight across the land,’ yes.  I know.  But I...what does the Chant say beyond that?  Is it sinful to work and heal the Blighted land?  How different is that from killing the Darkspawn horde, other than reclaiming what their sin had destroyed?  I would not act against the Maker’s will, but even now the Chantry is still a flawed reflection of Andraste’s vision.”  She sighed.  “The Maker, in a millenium since her death, still does not speak.  Which leaves us to rely on faith and guesses.”

“‘Magic is meant to serve man.’”  I let the quotes rise up.  “Alissa is using it to do so.  The soil.  Healing the land itself, I can hardly believe it, Fey.  But she is also using Darkspawn.”  Darkspawn who bled almost-red, the same as the mage who’d...free’d them?

“Can we manage and destroy the threat of red lyrium without them?”  Ah, she’d cut to the heart of it.  “They’ve worked for a decade to help the Wardens eliminate Darkspawn as close to the source as they could.  They took over the Wardens’ duties when they were pulled by the false Calling!  If any of that other Darkspawn’s were still around, it might be different.  Possibly another of the Seven.  But…”  she sighed.  “These are not.  Love, can we risk the other path?”

“If they betray us?”  I understood betrayal - we both did.

“Then we, or Cassandra, call for an Exalted March.  Alissa asked for it herself, if she couldn’t free the Wardens from the Seven.  Or Six, if we got lucky.  And she may be right - nothing else could take down the Order.”

“But that would leave us facing betrayal from the land itself.”

“Cullen, we’ve already been betrayed.”  When I looked up, her eyes were intent, bright against her rich skin, a contrast to her harsh words.  “Think.  Red lyrium in Templars.  The plot against Cassandra.  But the lyrium, being used to corrupt Templars unknowing.  They’re being poisoned.  The Order, after everything they’ve done and suffered.  Mages, too?”  She shook her head.  “Mages can survive and function without lyrium.  But Templars…”

I breathed.  “It would end the Order.”  I forced my mind to keep working.  “It would threaten Cassandra’s reforms, the Chantry itself.”  And Fey, the Herald of Andraste who’d allied with the remnants of the corrupted Order, and gave them purpose with compassion.

“And kill two thirds of the Templars.”  She shuddered with me.  “We have to get rid of it, Cullen.  No matter the allies, so long as they act with honor.  What other choice is there?”

**

After dinner, Fey stood out on our balcony, despite the evening’s chill quiet.  I wrapped her in a blanket, but kept my arms around her as she leaned back.  I was about to murmur something in her ear when we both heard voices drifting in the breeze.  I couldn’t identify the first, but Alissa’s sharp voice was unmistakable.

“Alistair?” Fey breathed.  I shrugged, knowing she would feel it.

“...told you I’d not keep secrets.  Not anymore, after..”

There was a pause, and a murmur.

“No!  I haven’t, at least not deliberately.  Stone and sky, I don’t understand it myself.”

Alistair’s voice came more clearly, the tone flat.  He must have stepped closer to the Warden-Commander’s window, or out onto a similar balcony.  “Then guess, Liss.”

There was a pause, then Alistair spoke again.  “Maker’s mercy!  Liss, what’s happened to you?”

Despite how quietly she spoke, I was able to hear her clearly.  Both of them, now, so they must be outside.  “We don’t know.  Something that started shortly after the Blight, but I thought it was just what you’d said - the Calling comes faster to those who Join during the Blight.  But Avernus...maybe it was some of what I learned from him, how to use it. Or tied to Awakening.  Or just using the Taint, rather than listening.”

“But what does that mean?  You’re not hearing the Calling, are you?”  The panic in is voice cut.  I remembered that feeling, as Fey lay so small in her bed after Dorian and Sera brought her back into the Winter Palace, short an arm.  Even before, as I watched the Anchor spreading in her.  But she’d survived, thank Andraste.

“No.  No, Alistair, I’m not.  But I heard Corypheus a few years before...returned to the Surface.  I’m guessing I heard him...was freed.  He spoke with me, in dreams.  It’s the Architect’s research that started me down some of the paths I’ve found...but all of that is why I worked so hard to make sure the Seven couldn’t reach us.  Why I went looking for the Cure.  I don’t know...next.”

“Use the Cure!”  I winced at the desperation.  “I can’t - Rose, I can’t lose you.”

“It’s deadly, Alistair.  Or can be.  But it was a variation I came up with that I used to break the Magister’s Songs.  Besides, can I afford to?  We need Weisshaupt’s Wardens.  And there’s no one else who can manipulate the Taint like I can.  Or has a large enough range to have Awakened support.”  Her voice shifted to tenderness.  “In war, victory, my hero.”

“It’s not supposed to be  _ you,  _ Rose.”

“It’s not supposed to be  _ anyone.   _ But someone has to, and I can.  Besides, if anyone can find the loop, it’s me.  Or maybe that Magister I met.  Either way, neither the Dalish or those still buried in Circle garbage can think clearly enough.  Morrigan can help, and has, but she’s not Tainted.”  Her voice turned pleading.  “After, my hero.  We have to see this through, first.  But if I can pull in even a tithe of Weisshaupt, and that gives us two or three more spirit healers, then maybe…”

“Does your mind ever stop, Liss?”  There were still tears in his voice, but now there  was also exasperation.

“Of course not.  That would be boring.”  The sharpness was softer, touched with humor.  

“It might keep you safer.”

We could hear a soft laugh.  “Alistair, what is the safest thing you’ve done, these past years?”

“Sneaky wench.  Determined to lift my mood and make me stop panicking, are you?”

“Forfeiting already?”

“Never.  Though I’ll protest your unfairness.  The safest thing.  Hm.  Gave Barkspawn a bath.  Only got two bites, and that’s better than I manage around anyone but Sigrun.  And she’s still grumpy about Grumpy.”  He gave a noisy sigh.  “What’s the meekest thing you’ve done, over those same years?”

“I’m always meek.”  Alissa’s voice was tart and full of laughter.

“Uh-huh.”

“Fine.  I did manage not to respond to Anora’s ridiculous insistence that I come to Denerim to ‘reaffirm my loyalty as Arlessa,’ beyond telling her Warden duties kept me too busy to make the trip.  I even included the appropriate adverbs like unfortunately and sadly, rather than what I wanted to.  Since I got that one, what’s the brashest thing you’ve done?”

“Easy!  I told Morrigan that Kieran was only in the lower cellars because he was excavating Avaar ruins.  I swear, I forgot there  _ were  _ Avaar relics down there!  Maker…”

“That was a mess until she let you off the hook.”

“Kieran was going to let me hang.  No sense of filial duty.  Wait, my turn.  What was the cutest thing you’ve done?”

“You mean other than talking Cuddles, Boggart, Flick and Grumpy into getting under that ridiculous blanket so Kieran could have the final battle against Urthemiel acted out for his birthday?  Flick has been messing with wings and watching bats ever since.”

“No.  I did not need to know that.  We do  _ not  _ need  _ flying  _ Darkspawn.”  He sighed, and his voice turned serious again.  “You’ll take them with, when you go, right?”

“Some.  Half a dozen.  You need the rest here, and against the red lyrium.”  Her voice had turned serious as well.  “I’ll be as careful as possible, Alistair.  I have no intention of needing a rescue myself, as much as it would let you play the hero again.”

Fey shifted, then pulled me back inside.  I closed the balcony doors quietly, feeling like we’d...transgressed.  Well, we had.  That was not a conversation meant for other ears.

She turned wondering eyes at me.  “They put on plays for children?”

“Disciples.  I thought this was going to be easy, Fey.  But...what happens when faith and reality don’t match?”

She stooped over me, where I’d collapsed back onto the bed. “It’s not faith that’s conflicting, Cullen.  The Maker said nothing about Darkspawn.  The conflict is between the Chantry’s best guesses on them, and what we’re just seeing.  But the Awakened are new, and in a millenium, many things can change.  She’s healed Tainted land, and has Darkspawn allies that want to keep people safe, tell jokes...the Awakened are no threat.  No threat I can see, other than the contagion of their nature.  And that ‘Boggart’ seemed to believe there might be a way to prevent even that.”

I couldn’t stop a grumble.  “Life was easier when we just had to make war on one of the Seven.”

She chuckled, looking at me through her lashes.  When had she learned that?  “While dealing with Orlesians, Tevinter politics and discovering ancient elven gods?  Even before we found out about Solas, damn him to the Void.”  She sighed, and kissed me, murmuring against my lips.  “Besides, all of this is just...cleaning up after that war.”  And cleaning up, healing the wounds, was harder than making them in the first place.  Maker, if anyone knew that…

“We need the lyrium gone, Fey.”

Her eyes met mine, liquid, living green, even in the candlelit darkness.  She sighed.  “We do, love.  Send the raven to Cassandra.”  Her lip quirked.  “We can figure out what to do about these ‘Awakened’ Darkspawn later.  When we have the time.”

I grumbled.  “Mind-reading witch.”

“Even now, you do prefer the simpler solutions, Cullen.  But you’ve learned to accept allies of convenience.”  She’d taught me that, with the damned Orlesians under Gaspard.  But that would just lead to another argument.  And she was warm, her body fitting against mine.  She chuckled at my silence.  “Are you biting your tongue, Right Hand?”  Her voice was low and teasing.

I just chuckled softly in her ear. “Should I be biting something else, Herald?”  I put the words into practice, cutting off whatever she’d been about to say.

**

Alissa’s eyes were as darkly shadowed as Alistair’s, when she came down and planted herself in a chair.  Water and stew appeared in the hands of a young Warden, and she smiled her thanks before eating.  “You sent a raven.”

I nodded.  “To let the Divine know all is well.”  As well as it could be.

The mage nodded back, understanding the messages.  And - no, she had not told most of her people what she had asked for.  Not if she was talking this obliquely.  It was not like her.  “I’ll need to go soon, to Weisshaupt.”  Her eyes flared, but she kept her voice controlled.  “Whatever is happening there may be as bad as what the Templars went through, I don’t know.  But their conduct has not matched their stated policy.  At least, I hope not.”

Fey couldn’t resist a barbed question.  “I thought their policy was anything necessary to defeat the Blight?  Did they go beyond that?”

Hazel eyes met Breach-green.  But it was Alissa who looked away, back toward Alistair.  “I...I don’t know.  But the First Warden needs to learn that those tactics backfire.”  She turned once more, but spoke to the room, even as she looked at us.  “You are welcome here as long as you like, but if you are drawn away, consider this my best wishes for a safe journey.  The Wardens of Ferelden and Orlais shall give our  _ full  _ aid against the Blighted lyrium and shall dedicate ourselves to finding its source.”

Maker help us.  We knew what that meant – and from the starts among a few of the other Wardens, so did they.


	21. What Was Missing

I tossed the stick, and Shadow took off again.  Fey, sitting next to me, chuckled. “He...doesn’t bring the same stick back, Cullen.”

I rolled my eyes.  “Yes, I know. I still haven’t figured out if it is because he keeps finding better ones or his perverse sense of humor.”  It was rare for us to have this time, but we treasured it.  The Wardens were meeting with Alissa one last time before she headed off, which let Fey and I indulge in a long ride into the woods, resting and lunching (among other things) in a convenient meadow.  Our pair of escorts had tactfully given us space, looking for birds to bring back for dinner.

She just shrugged.  “He’s a mabari, Cullen.  Far smarter than he deserves, and utterly devoted to you and our daughter.”  He cared for her, too, but had decidedly imprinted on the two of us. “Oh, look, he’s finally coming back.”

I tossed the new stick again, into a thicker part of the woods, and snuck another deep kiss while he was rummaging.

Shadow ran up, wagging his stump of a tail, but I tensed as I saw what was in his mouth.  “Fey.”

That was all the warning she needed to flow gracefully to her feet, senses out.  She whistled low, and we heard the escorts respond. Starlight and Flurry both perked their ears and came closer, letting her slip their bridles back on one-handed as I dealt with what the dog had brought.

I held out my hand, and he dropped the box in it.  I ran a finger along the carved relief of Andraste...and opened it, knowing what I’d see.  The grinder, the funnel, the flask to mix everything. The vials were all gone - whoever this belonged to had gone through all of his pre-made lyrium.  I watched my hand reach for the bag, weigh it - enough for a week, if he was careful, already powdered.

“Cullen?” Fey’s voice was distant in my head.  I didn’t have any personal desire for the drug, hadn’t for almost two years now, but had avoided it when possible.  The chains it had forged in my body still hurt around it. Once an addict, always an addict. Slowly, I slipped on my gloves, opened the bag, poured a small amount into the lid of the box.  My nostrils flared - lyrium, but also a hint of corruption. I stirred the powder with my gloved fingertip, and saw the flecks of red among the blue.

“Fey, stay here.  Shadow, show me where you found this.”  The dog barked, and started back to the woods as I carefully closed the box and pulled the glove inside-out, making sure none of the powder fell as I stood and followed.  Fey, of course, came with. I glared at her.

“Be sensible, Cullen.  We’re safer together.”  I snarled, but she was right - and whistled a sharp ‘alert,’ so the sentries would discreetly follow.

I saw movement, partly blocked by a fallen oak.   _ “Stay back, damn it.”   _ I could feel her glare, so I finished my thought without the snarl.  “I have to deal with this, and need someone who can cover. Ranged works against Templars when it’s physical, remember?  And you can throw your daggers as well as anyone I’ve seen.”  She swore under her breath, but stayed a good ten paces from the twitching figure.  I would have liked further, but…good enough.

I knelt next to him, ignoring the flaming sword etched deep into his armor.  At one time, it had been etched into mine.  “Report, Brother.” I still knew the tone, the words.  There were advantages to having been a Knight-Commander.

“The fire...it tasted wrong, though...off...I was stronger, but then couldn’t remember what I’d done.”  His eyes were blurred with the first stages of lyrium withdrawal. I gently turned his head, hissing as I saw the streaks along his temple.  Faint, but present. The first stage of red lyrium corruption, from what I could remember of Ser Baris’ reports years ago.

I kept my voice low.  “Easy, Brother. Where are you bound?”

“A...Amma…”

“The Grand Chantry?”

His head jerked, the closest he could manage to a nod.  

“Here, let me help you stand. I have horses - can you ride?”

He shook.  “Not on my own.”  He closed his eyes to hide his helplessness.

Fey’s jaw was clenched - she had slipped close enough to hear, far enough to stay out of sword-range.  “I’ll get the horses saddled.” She threw a hand signal, running back to the meadow. The escorts, I knew, would help.

We staggered out of the woods: Fey had brought the horses as close to the treeline - and a large boulder - as she could.  “Up onto the roan, Templar.” Her Inquisitor’s voice, one few would argue with.

“Your Worship?”  His eyes tried to focus.

“Yes.  Now, mount.”  She moved to Flurry’s other side as he stood planted and solid, letting me help the man up.  Her voice softened. “We’ll get you to help, Ser…” Her voice trailed off, expecting an answer.

“Ser Thomas, Your Worship.”  His head lolled.  He was right.  He was not going to stay in the saddle alone.  Add to that lyrium withdrawal and the corruption…

“Ser Thomas, I need to take your blade.  It will make riding harder.” He tensed, but nodded jerkily.

“The fire...the pain...I...yes, of course, Commander.  Commander, right? If the Herald is here, then you must be her Commander, the Right Hand?”

I nodded, then remembered he may not be able to see.  “Yes, Ser Thomas.” I unbuckled the sword belt, pulled it off.  “I’m going to tie you to the saddle, Brother. You need a healer.”

“Lyrium....”

“I have none - but you’ll make it until we reach Vigil’s Keep.”  I looked at Fey. “I’ll tie his sword onto Moonlight’s saddle.”

Of course, she shook her head.  “Cullen, he’s armored. And I’m as good a horseman, plus I can take a fall and recover far better.”  Damn her for being right. I didn’t want her anywhere near Ser Thomas. Her eyes were understanding. “Give me a hand onto Flurry’s back, Commander.”

She rested her stump on my offered hand, swung up behind the saddle and the swaying Templar as I used the stirrups to lash his legs to the saddle.  “Shadow, guard.” He barked and came to his position just in front of Flurry’s left hind. As quickly as I could I mounted Moonlight, and urged her into a canter back to the Keep.  The escorts would have to keep up.

**

Alissa’s eyes were intent as she drew on her magic and examined Ser Thomas.  After a long moment, she sighed and met my eyes.  I knew the answer already.  She couldn’t heal him.  The lyrium – or Taint – had spread too far.  “I’ll take him to…the others.  He won’t notice, will he?”

The Templar’s head had fallen to one side as spasms ran through his body.  I remembered.  “No.  He’ll need lyrium soon, at least enough for him to understand his choices.”

The Awakened confirmed that the red lyrium infestation was still small.  Boggart added more.  “The Dragon-Warden.  He is the best chance, Warden-Mother.  For this one and for the red one.”

Alissa’s mouth tightened again, but she nodded.  “Thank you.”


	22. Joining

Ser Thomas chose the Joining.  “I can still be faithful to my vows, Right Hand?”

I nodded.  “You will add more, but they do not conflict other than the fact the Chantry has allowed the Wardens to use all magic so long as it is controlled and against the Blight.”  I nodded at his face.  “The Ferelden Wardens do not use blood magic, and none in the South use demons.  Here, I do not think you will be torn.”

“Andraste have mercy.”  He stayed resolute.  The Order had lost a good member when he was corrupted against his knowledge.  “Commander, will you tell them?”  The lines on his drawn face…lyrium withdrawal.  It would take time to recover.

“I will.”

**

Alissa let us watch as she prepared the ritual – she was teaching two other mages as well.  I could smell the magic, the blood, the lyrium blending together in the chalice.  To most Templars, it would be all the evidence needed to declare malificarum and attack.  Not to someone who survived Kinloch and Kirkwall.  If anyone had learned to feel blood magic underneath their skin, surely it was I.

The mages were intent.  Alissa spoke, to me.  “There is no other way to introduce the Taint.  Not that gives the recruit a chance to master it.  You may have seen during the Blight.  The blood straight either kills, or turns the person into a ghoul, trapped between human and Darkspawn, mindless and hungry.”

I’d had to kill one on the way from Kinloch to Kirkwall.  Just one – the Darkspawn hadn’t spread too far, when I had been transferred.  “And with this?”

One of the other mages tensed: he was not happy that a non-Warden was here, but couldn’t protest.  Alissa responded.  “They become Wardens, or they die.  With the original ritual, a third to half.  Too many, but the Wardens had no choice.  The Blight must be stopped.  I’ve studied, and changed it.  With this version, nine in ten become Wardens.  Orlais has this one as well.  I hope to bring my research to the rest of the Order.”

Fey asked her own question.  “Can it be reversed?”

It was a long time until Alissa spoke.  The ritual spell snapped to completion, and she stepped back.  Even then, she did not look at us.  “In the millennium since Dumat first rose, no one has been cured of the Taint.”  She picked up the chalice.  “It is time.”

**

Three recruits: the young escort we had coming in, an angular dwarven woman and Ser Thomas.  I could feel Alissa call on her powers, could see the flicker of Wonder near her, but she did not perform the ritual.  Another spirit wisp caught my eye – “Serena’s Curiosity,” Alissa whispered.  “Sometimes, if a Warden has issues, we can help.  Sometimes not.  But with Ser Thomas’ infection, we want to give every chance.”

I needed to know, so I paced closer to where a middle-aged Warden, sword on his back, was intoning the words.  They didn’t matter.  All that did were the traces of magic…traces that existed only in the chalice and next to the mages.  No sign of other spells.

The woman drank.  Her eyes blackened, and she whimpered.  Blood trickled down her mouth as she bit back a scream, falling to her knees…and finally collapsing.  The Warden bent next to her, brushed back the hair over her throbbing temple, and kissed it.  “Welcome.”

Ser Thomas’ face had paled, but he stood resolute – and stepped forward as the Warden stood.  The Warden ignored the lacey tendrils along his temple and neck, holding out the chalice.  “Andraste give me strength.”  With those murmured words, he also drank deeply.

I watched in horror – the tracings of corruption grew brighter, then black, as his eyes shifted and wept blood.   _ No.   _ He was a good man who had fallen prey to another’s plot.

“The darkness…”  His whisper.

He was a Templar.  I had been a brother.  I shoved the Warden aside and grabbed Ser Thomas’ shoulders – spoke to him, to Andraste herself, low and intent.

_ ‘Though all before me is shadow...’ _

__ He answered.  “Yet the Maker be my guide.  Maker!  The pain, the corruption…”

Corruption.

_ ‘Blessed are they who stand within _

__ _ The corruption of wickedness and do not falter.’ _

__ It was not exact – but it might work.

_ ‘Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just. _

__ _ Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow.’ _

The words of the ritual.  ‘Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant.’

Ser Thomas finished the verse, only my hands holding him upright.  “’In their…our…blood, the Maker’s will is written.’  I…will…serve!”  A shout of defiance, a cry for strength.  He dropped, limp, and I eased him down.

The Warden knelt at my side, and traced the lines of lyrium corruption…lines that had faded again under sweat-slicked skin.  “He lives.”  He kissed Ser Thomas’ temple.  “Welcome.”

**

Alissa’s lips twitched as she looked up at me.  She’d vanished, after the ritual.  Now she was back.  “I should chew you out for interrupting.  That’s not why I said you could observe.”

Fey gave a snort.

“Yes, I was getting there.  Thank you.  I don’t know what you did, but it worked.  No magic, no spirits.  Nice trick.”

I shrugged.  “It was no trick.  I was a Templar, you may recall.”  That got snorts from both women.  “I reminded him of his vow when he needed it, nothing more.”

“That nothing more saved his life.”  Alissa paced away, then back.  “Doesn’t change that I need to leave – and I don’t know what will happen with the lyrium corruption.  If he can’t beat that, we’ll deal with it.”  Ser Thomas had already agreed.

“Go, Alissa.  We understand duty – and I am not called to be anywhere.  I will stay, as will Cullen as long as he can.  Once the infestation has started, it usually spreads quickly.  We both have experience with that.”  Fey was right, though if she thought I would leave her here to watch a Red Templar, she was sorely mistaken.  As much as I respected Ser Thomas’ determination, no.  

**

Fey spent the days working with Serena examining Ser Thomas and with the Revered Mother who had Joined years ago.  I sent a letter to Amaranthine along with the letters Ser Thomas had carried, and trained with him.

“You…you freed yourself from it.”

The same question I’d received so often.  “Yes.  And it took years.”

His eyes were pure misery.  “I keep fearing…keep wanting…but it is what led me here.  I chose, but what choices did I really have?”

The bitterness in his voice ached.  “The choices are the same if you try break lyrium’s hold.  For most, it’s madness or death.  But some can break through.”  I hesitated, but continued.  “Whether you can, given the red lyrium…talk with Serena and the others.  It will be pain and nightmares, constantly.”

Ser Thomas gave a hollow laugh.  “It is now, Commander.  The Taint…there is no escaping it.”  He clenched his jaw.  “But I was aware – the Warden-Commander made sure of that, before I chose.  She also told me that it was not a guaranteed solution.  I will  _ not  _ turn into one of those Red monsters.  I will not abandon my faith or my humanity.  I will die first.”  He stopped, breathing heavily.

I limited my reaction to a nod.  “Discuss this with your Senior Warden.  Pray.  I have been informed all the lyrium here has been checked and is free of corruption.  You have the strength – you have already shown it.  When the time is right, you will know.”

He had already made his choice.  The violation of the red lyrium had done that – he feared lyrium, feared to trust.  With luck and Andraste’s grace, he now believed he had the will to survive.


	23. Ostwick

Fey was pacing with furious speed when we met in our rooms before dinner.  Her fist was clenched around a crumpled paper and her eyes burned.  I stopped as soon as I could close the door behind me and bar it.   _ Something  _ had happened.  Based on her current state, something recent.  She hadn’t exploded yet.

The words were snarled.  “I have been summoned to Ostwick.”  Her eyes slit, daggers of Breach green pouring hate.  “I can’t escape this funeral, because I am needed.  To take my ‘rightful place’ as sole heir.”

I still didn’t understand why, when she grew angry, I calmed.  Maker, I can’t lie even to myself – I knew.  She was Andraste’s Herald, even before my love and my wife.  I would be her rock.  “Will you go?”

She stopped so suddenly my mind spun, and answered in the same low tone. “I have to.  My father is dead.”  Fey, my bright, burning, shining blade, dissolved.  She sobbed out her anger, and fear, and grief, trembling in my arms, as the missive fell to the floor.

**

Finally she slept, worn out from the storm.  I did not.  I began packing – Amaranthine should have ships to the Marches regularly, this season.  My eyes fell to the wad of parchment on the floor.

_ ‘Safeyya _

_ You have steadfastly refused your duty to your family and the Chantry for years, but no longer.  If your dear brother’s death did not move you, then clearly ties of blood and love have vanished to that selfish willfulness Irving’s foul influence left stained on you.  I cannot call on them, nor on duty, I fear. _

_ Perhaps I am wrong – perhaps my grief and prayers have finally softened your heart.  Your dear father, my lord, passed.  A sudden illness or poison, I do not care to discover.  The grief is too much.  Son, and now father – you are all I have left in this world. _

_ If that is not enough, then perhaps I can appeal to that selfishness I have begged Andraste to take from you.  You should remember Ostwick’s laws – the Bann is now yours, as heir.  You must come to claim it before the time of mourning is over, or it will be lost forever. _

_ I beg you, come home.  Comfort me and say your goodbyes to the man who gave you everything he could. _

_ In Andraste’s gaze, _

_ Your Mother, _

_ Lady Trevelyan’ _

Below was a second hand – a very different one.

_ ‘My dear girl, I cannot keep this from you.  And for once your mother is right.  You are needed.  We cannot afford another Kirkwall. _

_ Andraste’s peace, Safeyya.  She will always listen, as will I. _

_ Mother Deen’ _

**

The Wardens didn’t question.  Their Commander had said we were welcome to stay and welcome to go.  One readied passage to Ostwick as we said our goodbyes to Ser Thomas, and to the Grand Cleric in Amaranthine itself.

I have never liked sea voyages – and the lyrium withdrawal only made it worse.  Too many memories of my balance swaying and blurred vision even on land left me unsteady.  But this was the quickest way.  The Captain was almost too helpful, speechless from the ‘honor’ of carrying both the Right Hand and Herald.

Fey managed the basic courtesies, then retreated to her cabin.  A brief smile.  “It is not your ship, but my stomach.  Too long from the Marches.”

Thank the Maker, the voyage was uneventful.  So was the food, but that didn’t matter to me.  I was used to both the increasingly familiar foods from Fey’s home city as well as the more bland fare from the Order’s tables.  Anything was better than the Orlesian insistence on glazing or saucing or otherwise masking the actual food beneath the pomp, but I had learned even to stomach that.  It was easier than stomaching the Orlesians themselves.  The things I did for duty.

**

I hadn’t asked Fey for many descriptions of Ostwick, assuming it to be just another Marcher city.  I was wrong.  The Free Marches were less a country and more an argument waiting to happen, drawing influence and originality from wherever they chose.  Kirkwall was stark and Tevinter at one point, but had clearly branched away after the revolts.  Ostwick had gone a different route.  Perhaps it drew from Antiva, or from the harsh steppes of the Anderfels.  Sun poured down over a brightly painted chaos of minarets and flat roofs, open squares adding a grace to the pale sandstone and whitewashed plaster.  Sharp spices almost covered the filth of the docks and webbed canals between floating warehouses and piers stretching into the harbor.

Fey’s face was a mix of soft nostalgia and bitterness.  “My family’s home for five generations.”  The air was so still her blood-red sleeves didn’t move.  She swallowed her next words before speaking again.  “Ostwick doesn’t deserve them.”  She gave a tiny sigh of resignation, and spoke again, so quietly I almost missed it.  “Ostwick doesn’t deserve  _ us.”   _

**

We slipped off the ship with no fanfare – Fey’s preference.  Even this far North, people wore hooded cloaks against the brisk air.  I sweated, but at least it hid my features.  Once, I would have been unrecognizable.  On the other hand, once I was also screaming my way through lyrium withdrawal on my knees in a shattered Circle as opposed to married and with a lovely daughter.  The whole ‘Right Hand of the Divine’ nonsense was just my helping out a friend.  I snorted softly, but she still glanced my way.

“Thoughts?”

The liquid accent of Ostwick was all around us, punctuated by the brisk tones of Kirkwall, the brambles of Starkhaven and slurring pomposity of Orlais.  “That after everything, our largest concern is being recognized too soon.”

Her hand tightened on my elbow, and she looked away.  “Not much further,” she murmured.

The Chantry soared under patterned spires, rich terra cotta tiles around the door making a remarkably welcoming – and even elegant – building.  It was a relief.  After so long I knew that the demeanor of the building had little reflection on those housed within, but Eli’s insistence that the home and personality shape each other still lingered.  I murmured a prayer as we stepped over the threshold, that Templar training lingering.

Grand Cleric Deen greeted us, enveloping Fey in a warm hug and kissing her cheek.  “Oh, child.  I wish I didn’t have to ask you back.  Andraste watch over you and guide your path.”

After a moment, Fey stepped back with a bitter smile.  “She has so far, Mother.”  Then she took a breath, and I tensed.  This was…not expected.  “Grand Cleric, we seek the sanctuary of the Chantry.”

I almost dropped my pack.  Did she really just say she didn’t trust her family to not harm us?  That was…unthinkable, until I remembered the shadows in her eyes, the twisted mix of sorrow, love, and relief she’d sobbed into my arms.

The Grand Cleric’s brilliant blue eyes darkened, but she nodded.  “Of course, children.  The Maker’s home is open for all who seek sanctuary, unless you seek it against His justice.”  She met my eyes.  “Come with me.  There is a room available.”

I pulled my cloak as we reached it, a room very familiar to me.  A pallet just large enough for two, a small shrine, a table with water ewer, and a deep-silled window filled the narrow space.  I dropped my pack, and turned to them.  “It’s not my place, but why are we  _ here?” _

“You have not told him, Safeyya?”

Fey blushed…with embarrassment as well as shame.  “No.  Cowardice, I know.”   _ Fey?   _ She took a deep breath and met my eyes, her already moist.  “My mother, like my father, loved all of us.  Steph, myself, Rodie.  Until he showed magic, and then he was excised from the records and taken to White Spire.”

I winced – I knew what that meant.  But my wife wasn’t done.

“When I tried to leave,  _ father  _ was the one to bring me back, but it was  _ mother  _ who arranged the sale of Irving, all for my own good.  Because it must have been his fault I was corrupted from Andraste’s path.”  Her voice had gone dead again.  “Steph was the golden child, so long as the servants and I had no marks that my dear parents could see.  But they couldn’t believe their firstborn, their proud heir, would ever do such a thing.  And he didn’t hit often, so long as we weren’t defiant.  But Steph is gone now, and so is Father.  That takes away much of Mother’s power to act…but I can only trust that so far.  I’ve been wrong before.”

“She would dare act against you as Herald, and me as Right Hand?  If she’s so faithful, how – “

Fey interrupted, the heat coming back.  “You don’t understand, Cullen.  She  _ wouldn’t  _ be acting against Cass or Andraste, not in her mind.  She would be guiding and guarding the true path, herding me back onto it.  You, she could see the same, or even as that corrupting influence.”

It all sank in.  “This is why you didn’t want anyone to know of the marriage.  It wasn’t politics.”  I breathed the statement.

“It wasn’t politics,” she confirmed softly.

We slipped off the ship with no fanfare – Fey’s preference.  Even this far North, people wore hooded cloaks against the brisk air.  I sweated, but at least it hid my features.  Once, I would have been unrecognizable.  On the other hand, once I was also screaming my way through lyrium withdrawal on my knees in a shattered Circle as opposed to married and with a lovely daughter.  The whole ‘Right Hand of the Divine’ nonsense was just my helping out a friend.  I snorted softly, but she still glanced my way.

“Thoughts?”

The liquid accent of Ostwick was all around us, punctuated by the brisk tones of Kirkwall, the brambles of Starkhaven and slurring pomposity of Orlais.  “That after everything, our largest concern is being recognized too soon.”

Her hand tightened on my elbow, and she looked away.  “Not much further,” she murmured.

The Chantry soared under patterned spires, rich terra cotta tiles around the door making a remarkably welcoming – and even elegant – building.  It was a relief.  After so long I knew that the demeanor of the building had little reflection on those housed within, but Eli’s insistence that the home and personality shape each other still lingered.  I murmured a prayer as we stepped over the threshold, that Templar training lingering.

Grand Cleric Deen greeted us, enveloping Fey in a warm hug and kissing her cheek.  “Oh, child.  I wish I didn’t have to ask you back.  Andraste watch over you and guide your path.”

After a moment, Fey stepped back with a bitter smile.  “She has so far, Mother.”  Then she took a breath, and I tensed.  This was…not expected.  “Grand Cleric, we seek the sanctuary of the Chantry.”

I almost dropped my pack.  Did she really just say she didn’t trust her family to not harm us?  That was…unthinkable, until I remembered the shadows in her eyes, the twisted mix of sorrow, love, and relief she’d sobbed into my arms.

The Grand Cleric’s brilliant blue eyes darkened, but she nodded.  “Of course, children.  The Maker’s home is open for all who seek sanctuary, unless you seek it against His justice.”  She met my eyes.  “Come with me.  There is a room available.”

I pulled my cloak as we reached it, a room very familiar to me.  A pallet just large enough for two, a small shrine, a table with water ewer, and a deep-silled window filled the narrow space.  I dropped my pack, and turned to them.  “It’s not my place, but why are we  _ here?” _

“You have not told him, Safeyya?”

Fey blushed…with embarrassment as well as shame.  “No.  Cowardice, I know.”   _ Fey?   _ She took a deep breath and met my eyes, her already moist.  “My mother, like my father, loved all of us.  Steph, myself, Rodie.  Until he showed magic, and then he was excised from the records and taken to White Spire.”

I winced – I knew what that meant.  But my wife wasn’t done.

“When I tried to leave,  _ father  _ was the one to bring me back, but it was  _ mother  _ who arranged the sale of Irving, all for my own good.  Because it must have been his fault I was corrupted from Andraste’s path.”  Her voice had gone dead again.  “Steph was the golden child, so long as the servants and I had no marks that my dear parents could see.  But they couldn’t believe their firstborn, their proud heir, would ever do such a thing.  And he didn’t hit often, so long as we weren’t defiant.  But Steph is gone now, and so is Father.  That takes away much of Mother’s power to act…but I can only trust that so far.  I’ve been wrong before.”

“She would dare act against you as Herald, and me as Right Hand?  If she’s so faithful, how – “

Fey interrupted, the heat coming back.  “You don’t understand, Cullen.  She  _ wouldn’t  _ be acting against Cass or Andraste, not in her mind.  She would be guiding and guarding the true path, herding me back onto it.  You, she could see the same, or even as that corrupting influence.”

It all sank in.  “This is why you didn’t want anyone to know of the marriage.  It wasn’t politics.”  I breathed the statement.

“It wasn’t politics,” she confirmed softly.


	24. Family

Would the poison daggers in the conversation have been less obvious, had I not discovered what I had that first night?  I doubt it.  Even without knowledge of Lady Trevelyan, I knew my own lady well from these past years.  I could read her tension in the way she breathed, the angle of her head – a thousand and one small indications that something dangerous was near, as I stepped my way in her wake, just behind her left shoulder.

A servant had startled when we knocked on the estate door.  “My…your…we had no word!”

Fey’s mouth tightened slightly at the sight of black draped everywhere it could, punctuated by the sick-sweet scent of lily and myrtle.  “I see Lady Trevelyan’s taste has not changed.  I can find her in her study, or the chapel?”  She gave no explanation for her sudden appearance, her face a court mask finer than any creation of the Great Game.

“I…the study, my…your Worship.  Let me call a…”

“There is no need.  I can announce myself.”  With that, she stepped past the stunned man and into the house filled with mourning and death.  I followed silently, fighting to keep a hand from the pommel of my sword – and more grateful than I should be for the armor woven into both our formal attire.  That I felt that way around what should be family sickened me, but long practice kept emotion hidden when there was danger.

She led through halls with priceless art and statuary, expensive and ornate rugs carpeting the tiled floors.  “My family is very proud of their Tevinter ties.  A reflection on Ostwick itself.  We are known for nothing else.  Corruption and the faded glory of the Imperium.”

At one door, also heavily draped in black netting, she paused, then knocked.

Long minutes later, a smooth voice spoke with the same accent.  “Enter and announce yourself if you must disturb me.”

A deep breath, the faintest tremor of her hair, and Fey opened the door.  “You should know me.”

The woman, her lustrous dark hair streaked white with age, stared with dark, startled eyes.  “You…after so many years,  _ now  _ is when you return?”  The woman half-stood, the shock and anger vanishing under a quickly-adopted welcome.  “Daughter, you’ve come back.  I…”

Fey ignored those words as she had the servant earlier, speaking in a cool, formal voice.  “Lady Fatimah Auroris Ophelia Trevelyan, widow of Lord Trevelyan and Premier of Ostwick.  Ser Cullen Stanton Rutherford, Right Hand of the Divine, Commander of the forces of the Inquisition.”

Some message was passed in that introduction – a title left out, a moment of emphasis I was not familiar enough with Ostwick to place.  The older Trevelyan whitened slightly.  “So, you have decided to respect your father without his having to see your deformity.  If you hadn’t abandoned your family, perhaps the suffering that has fallen on us and you would not have been a necessary price for Andraste’s favor.  Due to your discourtesy, your rooms are not prepared.  It will take another day.”

The backstroke shocked me even more than being ignored, but it didn’t seem to draw blood.  “I am not staying here, but in the Chantry.”

“This is your home, for five generations, no matter you turned your back on us.  I can see past the suffering and welcome you to your rightful place.  Trevelyans have ruled from here since the Imperium receded, and you shall be no different, my daughter.”

Twisted words, all spoken from the sincerity of a faith bent around the believer –  _ this  _ was what Fey meant.   _ This  _ was why she could not trust sense.  I worked to keep from spitting or shivering.   _ This was why she had hid Camilla so carefully, and still did.   _ Not Solas, but the horror of the twisted garden that had nurtured her.  Bile rose.

The faintest motion of her shoulder and stump caught my attention – all that was left of the gesture long habit let me still read.   _ Easy.   _ I had to trust her.  Of course I trusted her, even facing the adder with my wife’s high cheekbones and amber skin darkened to caramel by the northern sun.

“I have been free of your management for the past five years.  My father’s death does not change that.”  A hesitation.  “My lady.”  Fey turned, the blood-red sleeves flaring gracefully beneath her tight black bodice.

“You are a Trevelyan!  Trevelyans have done their duty and sheltered Ostwick under their guidance since this city was given into their hands by the Archon himself!”

She turned briefly to face the woman who bore her – even I could not call her a mother.  “I have done my duty as Andraste demands, not as you twist Her words.  The Archon did not give Ostwick to the Trevelyans – he abandoned Ostwick, forgotten backwater of the Imperium, while he worried about more important matters.  I made the mistake of actually reading the histories father so proudly kept.”

As Lady Trevelyan gaped, never having moved from her chair since the first abortive attempt to act a mother’s love, Fey led us out again.  Another two turns through wide, arched halls and we stepped into somewhere familiar.  A small chapel.  The comfort of incense was buried under an excess of lilies tied in black, a single ornate urn resting on the altar.

Trembling fingers touched the etched and inlaid bronze.  “Oh, father.”  I dug out a handkerchief as the first tear since we began the journey fell like crystal along her cheek.

“Fey.”  I kept my voice low as I touched her face, a wary eye on the door.  Here, only Andraste’s gaze on us, she was able to relax enough to close her eyes and press her cheek against my hand with a broken sigh.

It all vanished in an instant, locked tight under the Herald of Andraste, when we heard a clatter and vigorously protesting door guard.  “Ser...my lord...you can’t just…”

“My  _ dear  _ man,” a blessedly familiar voice drawled despite the quick tempo of his words, “I  _ can,  _ and  _ am.   _ I know quite well the oh-so- _ grieving  _ widow has no need for the contamination of a dreaded  _ Magister  _ in her study, so I will take advantage of my position as family and pay my respects.  Privately.  There is no need to force either of us to pretend amity simply on that account.”

_ Dorian.   _ A dear friend neither of us had seen in far too long.  I took a step to the side, then another, granting Fey precedence and being gifted with a faint but genuine smile lurking in her living green eyes.

Finally, the door was thrown open with the now-Magister’s signature flourish, even if he was still under the impression only the servant could see him.  An instant of surprise paused him, then he stepped forward.  “Darling!  It’s been too long - ever since we dealt with that nasty business in Halamshiral.”  His arms opened, somehow keeping in that space where it would be the  _ perfect  _ gesture of greeting whether or not Fey stepped into them.  I’d never admit it in public, but many of the techniques I used to socialize as Right Hand were mere ghosts of the ones I watched Dorian execute, perfected from years of ‘marinating in spite and infamy.’

Fey responded with real warmth under the formality she kept for the scandalized servant.  “Dorian, my dear, it has been.  For some reason, the Black Divine hasn’t invited me to any of his parties.  Have you come to pay respects to my father, your seventh cousin, four times removed?”

_ “Three  _ times removed, pumpkin.”  He flashed a warm smile and stepped forward enough to take her hand in his, negligently waving a dismissal at the gaping man behind him.  “Surely I remembered to write you that?  In answer, yes, of course, and to be here for you in such a difficult time.”

Once I glared meaningfully, the servant flushed and closed the chapel door behind him.  Whether he would stay and listen or immediately go to the supposed ‘Lady’ of the house, I couldn’t say.  “Dorian,” I smiled quietly.  “Life has certainly been more dull without you.”

“Of  _ course,  _ how could it not be?  I’m so sorry to deprive you of my sparkling personality, but needs must - and you were dull enough to take on a  _ job.”   _ The warmth filling his eyes belied his words.  He was stunningly dressed, of course, in a bright crimson and deep sapphire concoction that managed to harmonize with Fey’s shirt and the black mourning band wrapped just so around his left bicep.  “Now, if you two will give me a moment…”  He stepped swiftly past to look at the urn thoughtfully, give the faintest of bows with the fingers of his right hand gracefully over his heart,  and murmured something in Tevene.  “There.  Respects paid, my dears.   _ Do  _ tell me you can come over for dinner?  I rented a quite adequate villa for the next few weeks and remembered to bring my own wine.”

Fey sparkled a smile at him.  The man had always been able to bring out the mischief in my lady, something I was eternally grateful for.  “We saved the evening just for you, peacock.  Is it just you?”

“The great lummox found out I was coming and met me once I reached port.”  A fond smile parted his lips.  “How he always knows...so you will have to share my delightful company.”

**

Dinner was fantastic, as I watched Fey get enveloped by Bull’s meaty hug.  “You’re going to crush me!”

“Nah, Boss.”  The affectionate nickname still fell easily from the Qunari’s deep voice.  “You’re tougher than that.  Now come on and eat.”  The last three years had added a few new scars, but the Captain of the Chargers and Fey’s true spymaster still  _ looked  _ like the lazy, decadent, eight-foot wall of grey muscle I’d seen when he first showed up to Haven and said the Inquisition had hired him so what could he hit.

Course after course, all paired  _ perfectly  _ with the finest wines.  Spices I’d only had once Fey and Dorian had conspired to bring a ‘real’ cook to Skyhold so she could have her childhood favorites and  _ he  _ could have ‘something that didn’t taste boiled or simply stuck in a fire.’

Finally, she sat back with a sigh and sniffed at the delicate cup of mint-and-honey tea.  “Dorian, my darling, I love you.”

Said Dorian was lounging across Bull’s lap and chest.  He blinked relaxed, sparkling eyes at my wife.  “Well that’s stupid of you.  You know perfectly well I’ll leave you pining and broken-hearted.  I’m only using you to get more of your delicious husband.”

Bull just snorted at the interplay, drawing an outraged glance from the lazing Magister across his lap.

“Pavus, doesn’t that make you just as much an idiot?  You’re a good man, but simply not my type.”

He gave a dramatic sigh.  “Devastated.  Utterly and completely lost.  I shall have to throw myself from the nearest cliffside in grief.”

Fey laughed, nestled in against my side.  “So, Dorian my oh-so- _ unrequited  _ love, what do you have now that we’re relaxed and recovered from the visit to the Trevelyan estate?”

The humor and warmth of the room was sliced to bleed unheeded with the remains of supper.  Neither of the men moved, but they didn’t need to.  Dorian’s eyes went from flirtatiously predatory to the cold, hard orbs of one of Tevinter’s ruling class, while Bull’s free hand twitched warily on his thigh - shocking to see  _ his  _ discipline fray so far.

“Roderick Ardashir Timas Trevelyan.”

I could feel the blood draining from her as she slowly sat up, her amber skin grey.   _ “Rodie?”   _ The question was breathed through pain and fear - if I had to guess, fear that she was misunderstanding.  Rodie.  Her little brother, the one she’d tried to protect - the one she’d unwittingly doomed when she ran from his suddenly-appearing gift of magic.  The one her  _ other  _ brother had taken with him to White Spire as their father removed him from the family rolls.

Bull nodded slowly, pulling my gaze.  “He survived, Boss.  He’s here now.”

Another man, hooded, stepped in when Pavus rang a little bell - it  _ wasn’t  _ for the servants as I had thought.  A trauma-washed tenor spoke, his accent hauntingly similar to the rich alto of the woman I married.  “Hello, sister.”


	25. Ostwick

We slipped off the ship with no fanfare – Fey’s preference.  Even this far North, people wore hooded cloaks against the brisk air.  I sweated, but at least it hid my features.  Once I would have been unrecognizable.  On the other hand, once I was also screaming my way through lyrium withdrawal on my knees in a shattered Circle as opposed to married and with a lovely daughter.  The whole ‘Right Hand of the Divine’ nonsense was just my helping out a friend.  I snorted softly, but she still glanced my way.

“Thoughts?”

The liquid accent of Ostwick was all around us, punctuated by the brisk tones of Kirkwall, the brambles of Starkhaven and slurring pomposity of Orlais.  “That after everything, our largest concern is being recognized too soon.”

Her hand tightened on my elbow, and she looked away.  “Not much further,” she murmured.

The Chantry soared under patterned spires, rich terra cotta tiles around the door making a remarkably welcoming – and even elegant – building.  It was a relief.  After so long I knew that the demeanor of the building had little reflection on those housed within, but Eli’s insistence that the home and personality shape each other still lingered.  I murmured a prayer as we stepped over the threshold, that Templar training lingering.

Grand Cleric Deen greeted us, enveloping Fey in a warm hug and kissing her cheek.  “Oh, child.  I wish I didn’t have to ask you back.  Andraste watch over you and guide your path.”

After a moment, Fey stepped back with a bitter smile.  “She has so far, Mother.”  Then she took a breath, and I tensed.  This was…not expected.  “Grand Cleric, we seek the sanctuary of the Chantry.”

I almost dropped my pack.  Did she really just say she didn’t trust her family to not harm us?  That was…unthinkable, until I remembered the shadows in her eyes, the twisted mix of sorrow, love, and relief she’d sobbed into my arms.

The Grand Cleric’s brilliant blue eyes darkened, but she nodded.  “Of course, children.  The Maker’s home is open for all who seek sanctuary, unless you seek it against His justice.”  She met my eyes.  “Come with me.  There is a room available.”

I pulled my cloak as we reached it, a room very familiar to me.  A pallet just large enough for two, a small shrine, a table with water ewer, and a deep-silled window filled the narrow space.  I dropped my pack, and turned to them.  “It’s not my place, but why are we  _ here?” _

“You have not told him, Safeyya?”

Fey blushed…with embarrassment as well as shame.  “No.  Cowardice, I know.”   _ Fey?   _ She took a deep breath and met my eyes, her already moist.  “My mother, like my father, loved all of us.  Steph, myself, Rodie.  Until he showed magic, and then he was excised from the records and taken to White Spire.”

I winced – I knew what that meant.  But my wife wasn’t done.

“When I tried to leave,  _ father  _ was the one to bring me back, but it was  _ mother  _ who arranged the sale of Irving, all for my own good.  Because it must have been his fault I was corrupted from Andraste’s path.”  Her voice had gone dead again.  “Steph was the golden child, so long as the servants and I had no marks that my dear parents could see.  But they couldn’t believe their firstborn, their proud heir, would ever do such a thing.  And he didn’t hit often, so long as we weren’t defiant.  But Steph is gone now, and so is Father.  That takes away much of Mother’s power to act…but I can only trust that so far.  I’ve been wrong before.”

“She would dare act against you as Herald, and me as Right Hand?  If she’s so faithful, how – “

Fey interrupted, the heat coming back.  “You don’t understand, Cullen.  She  _ wouldn’t  _ be acting against Cass or Andraste, not in her mind.  She would be guiding and guarding the true path, herding me back onto it.  You, she could see the same, or even as that corrupting influence.”

It all sank in.  “This is why you didn’t want anyone to know of the marriage.  It wasn’t politics.”  I breathed the statement.

“It wasn’t politics,” she confirmed softly.

**

Would the poison daggers in the conversation have been less obvious, had I not discovered what I had that first night?  I doubt it.  Even without knowledge of Lady Trevelyan, I knew my own lady well from these past years.  I could read her tension in the way she breathed, the angle of her head – a thousand and one small indications that something dangerous was near, as I stepped my way in her wake, just behind her left shoulder.

A servant had startled when we knocked on the estate door.  “My…your…we had no word!”

Fey’s mouth tightened slightly at the sight of black draped everywhere it could, punctuated by the sick-sweet scent of lily and myrtle.  “I see Lady Trevelyan’s taste has not changed.  I can find her in her study, or the chapel?”  She gave no explanation for her sudden appearance, her face a court mask finer than any creation of the Great Game.

“I…the study, my…your Worship.  Let me call a…”

“There is no need.  I can announce myself.”  With that, she stepped past the stunned man and into the house filled with mourning and death.  I followed silently, fighting to keep a hand from the pommel of my sword – and more grateful than I should be for the armor woven into both our formal attire.  That I felt that way around what should be family sickened me, but long practice kept emotion hidden when there was danger.

She led through halls with priceless art and statuary, expensive and ornate rugs carpeting the tiled floors.  “My family is very proud of their Tevinter ties.  A reflection on Ostwick itself.  We are known for nothing else.  Corruption and the faded glory of the Imperium.”

At one door, also heavily draped in black netting, she paused, then knocked.

Long minutes later, a smooth voice spoke with the same accent.  “Enter and announce yourself if you must disturb me.”

A deep breath, the faintest tremor of her hair, and Fey opened the door.  “You should know me.”

The woman, her lustrous dark hair streaked white with age, stared with dark, startled eyes.  “You…after so many years,  _ now  _ is when you return?”  The woman half-stood, the shock and anger vanishing under a quickly-adopted welcome.  “Daughter, you’ve come back.  I…”

Fey ignored those words as she had the servant earlier, speaking in a cool, formal voice.  “Lady Fatimah Auroris Ophelia Trevelyan, widow of Lord Trevelyan and Premier of Ostwick.  Ser Cullen Stanton Rutherford, Right Hand of the Divine, Commander of the forces of the Inquisition.”

Some message was passed in that introduction – a title left out, a moment of emphasis I was not familiar enough with Ostwick to place.  The older Trevelyan whitened slightly.  “So, you have decided to respect your father without his having to see your deformity.  If you hadn’t abandoned your family, perhaps the suffering that has fallen on us all would not have been a necessary price for Andraste’s favor.  Due to your discourtesy, your rooms are not prepared.  It will take another day.”

The backstroke shocked me even more than being ignored, but it didn’t seem to draw blood.  “I am not staying here, but in the Chantry.”

“This is your home and has been for five generations, no matter you turned your back on us!”  She sighed as her voice softened.  “I can see past the suffering and welcome you to your rightful place.  Trevelyans have ruled from here since the Imperium receded, and you shall be no different, my daughter.”

Twisted words, all spoken from the sincerity of a faith bent around the believer –  _ this  _ was what Fey meant.   _ This  _ was why she could not trust sense.  I worked to keep from spitting or shivering.   _ This was why she had hid Camilla so carefully, and still did.   _ Not Solas, but the horror of the twisted garden that had nurtured her.  Bile rose.

The faintest motion of her shoulder and stump caught my attention – all that was left of the gesture long habit let me still read.   _ Easy.   _ I had to trust her.  Of course I trusted her, even facing the adder with my wife’s high cheekbones and amber skin darkened to caramel by the northern sun.

“I have been free of your management for the past five years.  My father’s death does not change that.”  A hesitation.  “My lady.”  Fey turned, the blood-red sleeves flaring gracefully beneath her tight black bodice.

“You are a Trevelyan!  Trevelyans have done their duty and sheltered Ostwick under their guidance since this city was given into their hands by the Archon himself!”

She turned briefly to face the woman who bore her – even I could not call her a mother.  “I have done my duty as Andraste demands, not as you twist Her words.  The Archon did not give Ostwick to the Trevelyans – he abandoned Ostwick, forgotten backwater of the Imperium, while he worried about more important matters.  I made the mistake of actually reading the histories Father so proudly kept.”

As Lady Trevelyan gaped, never having moved from her chair since the first abortive attempt to act a mother’s love, Fey led us out again.  Another two turns through wide, arched halls and we stepped into somewhere familiar.  A small chapel.  The comfort of incense was buried under an excess of lilies tied in black, a single ornate urn resting on the altar.

Trembling fingers touched the etched and inlaid bronze.  “Oh, Father.”  I dug out a handkerchief as the first tear since we began the journey fell like crystal along her cheek.

“Fey.”  I kept my voice low as I touched her face, a wary eye on the door.  Here, only Andraste’s gaze on us, she was able to relax enough to close her eyes and press her cheek against my hand with a broken sigh.

It all vanished in an instant, locked tight under the Herald of Andraste, when we heard a clatter and vigorously protesting door guard.  “Ser...my lord...you can’t just…”

“My  _ dear  _ man,” a blessedly familiar voice drawled despite the quick tempo of his words, “I  _ can,  _ and  _ am.”   _ I didn’t try stop the corner of my mouth from joining my spirits as they rose. __ “I know quite well the oh-so- _ grieving  _ widow has no need for the contamination of a dreaded  _ Magister  _ in her study, so I will take advantage of my position as family and pay my respects.  Privately.  There is no need to force either of us to pretend amity simply on that account.”

_ Dorian.   _ A dear friend neither of us had seen in far too long.  I forced my face back to solemn respect, hiding my relief.  Physical threat, I could stand against.  Whatever Fey’s mother was...having Doian’s help was better than a battalion.  I took a step to the side, then another, granting Fey precedence and being gifted with a faint but genuine smile lurking in her living green eyes.

Finally the door was thrown open with the now-Magister’s signature flourish, even if he was still under the impression only the servant could see him.  An instant of surprise paused him, then he stepped forward.  “Darling!  It’s been too long - ever since we dealt with that nasty business in Halamshiral.”  His arms opened, somehow keeping in that space where it would be the  _ perfect  _ gesture of greeting whether or not Fey stepped into them.  I’d never admit it in public, but many of the techniques I used to socialize as Right Hand were mere ghosts of the ones I watched Dorian execute, perfected from years of ‘marinating in spite and infamy.’

Fey responded with real warmth under the formality she kept for the scandalized servant.  “Dorian, my dear, it has been.  For some reason, the Black Divine hasn’t invited me to any of his parties.  Have you come to pay respects to my father, your seventh cousin, four times removed?”

_ “Three  _ times removed, pumpkin.”  He flashed a warm smile and stepped forward enough to take her hand in his, negligently waving a dismissal at the gaping man behind him.  “Surely I remembered to write you that?  In answer; yes, of course, and to be here for you in such a difficult time.”

Once I glared meaningfully, the servant flushed and closed the chapel door behind him.  Whether he would stay and listen or immediately go to the supposed ‘Lady’ of the house, I couldn’t say.  “Dorian,” I smiled quietly.  “Life has certainly been more dull without you.”

“Of  _ course,  _ how could it not be?  I’m so sorry to deprive you of my sparkling personality, but needs must - and you were dull enough to take on a  _ job.”   _ The warmth filling his eyes belied his words.  He was stunningly dressed, of course, in a bright crimson and deep sapphire concoction that managed to harmonize with Fey’s shirt and the black mourning band wrapped just so around his left bicep.  “Now, if you two will give me a moment…”  He stepped swiftly past to look at the urn thoughtfully, give the faintest of bows with the fingers of his right hand gracefully over his heart,  and murmured something in Tevene.  “There.  Respects paid, my dears.   _ Do  _ tell me you can come over for dinner?  I rented a quite adequate villa for the next few weeks and remembered to bring my own wine.”

Fey sparkled a smile at him.  The man had always been able to bring out the mischief in my lady, something I was eternally grateful for.  “We saved the evening just for you, peacock.  Is it  _ just _ you?”

“The great lummox found out I was coming and met me once I reached port.”  A fond smile parted his lips.  “How he always knows...so you will have to share my delightful company.”

**

Dinner was fantastic.  I smiled again as I watched Fey get enveloped by Bull’s meaty hug.  “You’re going to crush me!”

“Nah, Boss.”  The affectionate nickname still fell easily from the Qunari’s deep voice.  “You’re tougher than that.  Now come on and eat.”  The last three years had added a few new scars, but the Captain of the Chargers and Fey’s true spymaster still  _ looked  _ like the lazy, decadent, eight-foot wall of grey muscle I’d seen when he first showed up to Haven and said the Inquisition had hired him so what could he hit.

Course after course, all paired  _ perfectly  _ with the finest wines.  Spices I’d only had once Fey and Dorian had conspired to bring a ‘real’ cook to Skyhold so she could have her childhood favorites and  _ he  _ could have ‘something that didn’t taste boiled or simply stuck in a fire.’

Finally, she sat back with a sigh and sniffed at the delicate cup of mint-and-honey tea.  “Dorian, my darling peacock, I do love you.”

Said Dorian was lounging across Bull’s lap and chest.  He blinked relaxed, sparkling eyes at my wife.  “Well that’s stupid of you.  You know perfectly well I’ll leave you pining and broken-hearted.  I’m only using you to get more of your delicious husband.”

Bull just snorted at the interplay, drawing an outraged glance from the lazing Magister across his lap.

“Pavus, doesn’t that make you just as much an idiot?  You’re a good man, but simply not my type.”

He gave a dramatic sigh.  “Devastated.  Utterly and completely lost.  I shall have to throw myself from the nearest cliffside in grief.”

Fey laughed, nestled in against my side.  “So, Dorian my oh-so- _ unrequited  _ love, what surprise do you have now that we’re relaxed and recovered from the visit to the Trevelyan estate?”

The humor and warmth of the room was sliced to bleed unheeded with the remains of supper.  Neither of the men moved, but they didn’t need to.  Dorian’s eyes went from flirtatiously predatory to the cold, hard orbs of one of Tevinter’s ruling class, while Bull’s free hand twitched warily on his thigh - shocking to see  _ his  _ discipline fray so far.

“Roderick Ardashir Timas Trevelyan.”

I could feel the blood draining from her as she slowly sat up, her amber skin grey.   _ “Rodie?”   _ The question was breathed through pain and fear - if I had to guess, fear that she was misunderstanding.  Rodie.  Her little brother, the one she’d tried to protect - the one she’d unwittingly doomed when she ran from his suddenly-appearing gift of magic.  The one her  _ other  _ brother had taken with him to White Spire as their father removed him from the family rolls.

Bull nodded slowly, pulling my gaze.  “He survived, Boss.  He’s here now.”

Another man, hooded, stepped in when Pavus rang a little bell - it  _ wasn’t  _ for the servants as I had thought.  A trauma-washed tenor spoke, his accent hauntingly similar to the rich alto of the woman I married.  “Hello, sister.”

**

Fey didn’t discuss what happened in the three hours she and Roderick were alone in the salon.  Bull and I didn’t ask.

“Pumpkin?”

She shook her head at Dorian, her eyes bruised.  Then she looked back at her little brother.  “Late morning?”

The scarred man with the same skin but one eye dark and the other amber nodded reluctantly.

She ignored everything, moving sightlessly past elegant carpets and carefully-chosen hand-painted vases toward the door.  “Safeyya?”  Whatever Dorian was going to try press faded as Bull bent to rumble something in his ear.  I quickly clasped forearms with the Qunari and followed my heart and wife.

**

Back at the Grand Chantry, I was deserted again.  Her dangerously flat voice reminded me of times better forgotten.  “I must see Mother Deen.”

The lay sister was foolish enough to argue, apparently not recognizing who Safeyya was.  “The Grand Cleric has retired for the night!  I will not disturb her rest.  She shall be present if your issue is significant enough tomorrow.”

Fey’s spine stiffened, and an undertone I recognized showed ever so slightly in her voice.  I suppressed a shiver, even now.  Fey’s temper was not something to risk lightly.  “I am Lady Safeyya Franziska Aramina Rutherford, daughter of the last Premier of Ostwick, Herald of Andraste, Former Inquisitor second of that title, the current heir to the Premiership of Ostwick, and here on her express invitation and request.  Wake her Grace.”

The woman’s eyes had widened with each leaden word.  “I...I…”  she fled.

I fought a short if bloody battle with my paranoia as Fey stepped along in the poor Sister’s wake.  Fey wanted a private talk.  She was safer here in the Chantry she’d grown up in than anywhere else.   _ Cassandra almost died among recovering Templars.   _ Fey was perfectly capable, and had handled that fight in honesty better than I had.   _ She was my wife.   _ She was the Herald.  Reason finally forced my feet toward the room allotted us.

All I could do now was wait.  No, that wasn’t true.  Shrugging off the formal wear and boots, I knelt at the shrine.  How many times had I prayed for her safety, for Andraste to bring her back to me?  Too many.  I added one more to the tally, aching at those bruised, dead-looking eyes I’d seen for a moment at Dorian’s rented villa.  

 


	26. The Meaning of Family

Fey wrapped herself into another of her uniforms as dawn struck our bed.  

“Fey?”  I shouldn’t be so muzzy.

“Help me with the sheath?” 

Now I woke.  No kiss, no murmurs, and the extra blade against the stump of her left arm?  What was she expecting, an army?  “Fey?”  My eyes opened onto the enticing amber curves of her back, quickly hidden under scarlet silk.  She stood, buttoning the front deftly with one hand before reaching for the black pants.

I’d foolishly expected the room to be cold, but it was nothing more than temperate as I shoved off the tangle of thin blanket to rise myself.  After taking care of the necessities, Fey was already in her boots, blades caressing her shins.

“How is it you’re so awake?”  I couldn’t stop the grumble.

My reward was a slashing glance.  “Have you tried to keep up with a toddler?  They climb.  Are you coming?”  

Was I what?  “Yes, of course.”  Coming where?  It didn’t matter.  I started dressing, taking my cue from her choices.  Thanks to my travels, the formal uniform fit almost-comfortably.  “Sword?”

Falling back to my role as her Commander and subordinate was as easy as slipping that sword into its well-oiled sheath.  Then again, had I ever truly stopped?  My world and my loyalties were defined by two women: the one in front of me who had saved the world, and the one on the Sunburst Throne.  Thank the Maker their wills had never truly crossed.

She shook her head, and I left sword and belt hanging from the foot of the bed.  “You have your knives,” I murmured as I fixed the hidden sheath to her stump.

“As soon as you can find a way to conceal your sword, Cullen...none of mine show.”

Fey wasn’t taking the daggers that usually rode on her hips.  Whatever battles she had to fight here, she believed they wouldn’t be won with steel - or at least, not the threat of it.   _ Late morning…  _ it likely involved her brother, and that meant we were going back to the outwardly-perfect place that had once been their home, and the spider who sat at the heart of it.

**

It wasn’t Fey who walked into her childhood home.  It was Safeyya, Herald of Andraste and once-Inquisitor.  I felt...surprisingly out of place.  I had been nothing once, and the thought of walking into a noble’s home would have been enough to make me silent and cowed.  Now?  It was hard after the years as Knight-Commander, running both Circle and supporting Bran as he tried to hold Kirkwall together; after the years as Commander of the Inquisition, no matter how austere I’d chosen to live; after the years now as Right Hand with access to the highest echelons of power.

I had changed, more deeply than I wanted to realize.

That uncomfortable fact carried me in Safeyya’s wake as she stepped easily through the softly painted walls.  Generations of what I presumed to be Trevelyans stared down with varying expressions of composure, disapproval, or in one case quite possibly constipation.  Thank the Maker Himself Fey had never wanted a formal portrait of us.  Skin of varying shades, from coffee to Fey’s own glowing amber fit the high arches and sun-spilt rooms here.  Complex designs were carved into the woodworked nooks and drew the attention to the ceiling several feet over even my head - with the heat so far north, I supposed it made sense.

**

How to describe Mother Deen?  No, not Mother Deen, Grand Cleric.  She was, from how Fey spoke of her, the true mother in her life.  Pale - as pale as I, she stood out here in Ostwick.  Unlike I, she had a poise and I would daresay composure that only grew from surviving grief and suffering.  I hadn’t noticed the last time I spoke with her in Val Royeaux, more concerned with those Grand Clerics who were less supportive of the Divine’s actions.  I also hadn’t noticed when we arrived; to be fair, I hadn’t noticed much, so off-balance from Fey’s inexplicable choices.

There was something stubbornly familiar about her rubbing against my memory, but the details blurred.  I was left with the certainty that I should know her, that she had a place somewhere far from Ostwick and its Chantry.  There wasn’t time for distraction.  I shook my head slightly, pushing the irritation to a later moment.

“Mother Deen.”  Fey stepped close to the Grand Cleric, no matter we’d just come from the Chantry, and the two women brushed cheeks.  The man behind the Grand Cleric stood rigidly.  Even with his hood up, I guessed.  I had seen her brother move briefly last night at Dorian’s borrowed villa.  Added to the experience I had with Fey’s way of thinking, it was the only thing that made sense.  

I was not made for inaction.  I held out my right hand.  “Cullen Rutherford,” I said to him.  If I was right, he was now  _ my  _ brother as well, and someone Fey had fond memories of.  Of course, people changed dramatically between nine and twenty-three.  

A faint smile shifted the scars along the left side of his face.  After a hesitation, he tentatively clasped forearms.  It was clearly a foreign gesture - of course.  I swore to myself.  A mage in a Circle would have little reason to learn such a thing, and if he had gone with the other mages to Tevinter….it was something only done in the South.  “Rodrick Trevelyan.”

His grip was uncertain, but his gaze wasn’t.  No, not uncertainty only.  He was waiting to see if I would dominate.  I knew better; I also had never had the desire to do so, save for that terrible time early at Kirkwall.  A firm grip, no more.  He and Fey were the same height, and this man had a similar slender build; nature and profession combined.  When I breathed, there were no unexpected scents - of course there weren’t.  Why would he use magic here and now?   _ Venatori.   _ No, surely Dorian and Bull would have been careful.  The guarded smile warmed slightly.

We let go, the ritual testing of each other complete.  I wasn’t sure what I gained from it, other than that he was in fact Fey’s brother.  What he did, I couldn’t guess.

“So, sister.  To Mother’s den?”  She stepped forward, and brushed her cheek against Rodrick’s scarred one. 

Neither of them had survived the war whole.

When Fey lot go of her brother, her jaw and shoulders were set.  Then I wound up getting a measuring gaze from a different set of Trevelyan eyes - a set that was much more familiar.  “The three of us, yes.”

“That is...likely wise.  This will be challenging enough without outside eyes, my dear.”

Even the Grand Cleric?  Was I the only one that didn’t know what was happening?  Bitter amusement flared in dark and amber eyes as I caught Rodrick looking in my direction.  “Welcome to Ostwick.  Only Safeyya’s name brought me back.”

I couldn’t brush her cheek, not without knowing what she was willing to have her brother know.  I could still speak into her ear, her former Commander.  “Are you certain?”  

“Yes.”  She rested against me; I couldn’t stop from wrapping my arms around her, even if I should.  “Go.  This is only the first movement, and I’m afraid your tactical skills won’t help us here.”

My tactical skills were useless unless there was a sword in my hand.  “I’ll be here if you need me, Fey.”

**

Fey and Rodie - no, I couldn’t think of that man as anything but Rodrick - were talking privately with Mother Deen.  I wouldn’t wager that ‘privacy’ excluded Dorian, but that was reassuring in its own way.  Dorian had the ability to turn up in unexpected ways but with  _ exactly  _ the right information.  He also may be the only point of trust that existed between Fey and her brother; their childhoods had been long ago.

I wandered aimlessly through the halls before an almost-familiar fresco caught my eye.  Where - oh.  The chapel.  I couldn’t not smile - it would also be the first place Fey would look for me.

The smile faded as I paced down the half-remembered path.  The sprawling villa was scattered between courtyards and gardens, half the easiest ways leading outside and through a riot of flowers even given the lateness of the season.  From Fey’s refusal to speak of any of this...I worried.

I hadn’t questioned Fey’s judgement like this since...was it really Blackwall’s death?  Not Blackwall, Thom Ranier.  The child-killer who had pretended to be a Warden for so many years.  Surely I could trust her.  She was my wife.  My lover, partner, and Herald.

She was also someone who, once she made a judgement, could only be moved by a legion or Andraste Herself.

Prayer.  Prayer had always steadied me.  Seen me through.  I pushed open the door I was fairly certain led to the chapel, deeply carved with a lovely if remote Prophet rising from the flames.

I stopped a pace and a half in, the door closing behind me of its own volition.  It was still draped in black, the urn still in its central position - but this was a chapel, and frequently used.  Incense clung to the walls and filled my lungs with every breath.  Candles in various states of dissolution wreathed Andraste’s pyre - they had chosen her death and Hessarian’s mercy when the chapel was built, it appeared.

I lit another taper and knelt.   _ Andraste, guide me.   _ I was more adrift than I’d been since Cassandra asked me to join the Inquisition despite the anchor of family and service to two women I loved and respected.   _ Though I walk in darkness, let the Maker be my guide.   _

I was useless here.  There was no need for the Right Hand, and I couldn’t be a husband no matter I walked next to my wife.  I hated being useless.  This was like the Winter Palace again, only fewer Orlesians.  No, frustration had no place, not here.  Closing my eyes, I tried to find solace in prayer, even if it couldn’t bring me certainty.

How long was it before the door opened?  Time faded under the waves of the Chant I murmured under my breath.  When it did, I didn’t look up until I realized the light cadence was  _ not  _ the swift, long-legged stride I had been subconsciously expecting.

The woman was Lady Trevelyan.  Despite her age and silver-streaked hair, her syrupy skin was smooth and supple.  Had I not spent so much time in Orlais, I might have misjudged her age to be closer to forty than the likely sixty it was.  Steph, if I recalled correctly, had been a dozen or more years older than Fey.  She was in a different dress still of mourning black, though her veil was gone.  

“Lady Trevelyan.”

Her eyes, an emerald three shades darker than Fey’s vivid Breach-green, widened.  “Oh.  Right Hand.  Forgive me please for interrupting your prayer.  I was...discomfited, and the Chant soothes me.  I will leave you.”

I shook my head.  “My lady, this is your home.  Please.”

A step forward.  This dance...no, I was overthinking things.  She was no Orlesian noble to whom politics was bloodsport.   _ She was also the woman Fey did not want knowing of our daughter.   _ “If you are certain...but here, I am not Lady Trevelyan.  Does our Lady care about titles?  Fatima, please.”

“Cullen.”  How else could I respond?  I still stepped back from the altar, but Lady Trevelyan sat in one of the chairs rather than kneeling.

A smile graced her lips.  “I cannot kneel any longer.  Age claims all of us.”  That I could understand - even now, I could feel the aches from the battle against my own Templars as a bright overlay above the years of scars I’d accumulated.  The smile faded and she sighed.  “It is difficult to see what you have helped build be torn down by those unwilling to preserve it.  The Trevelyans have ruled, with Andraste’s favor, generations.  Since the Imperium began its collapse, in fact.  My husband wanted nothing more than to see Ostwick safe, still sheltered under his family’s name and Her protection.”

I murmured somewhat at that.  I could understand Lord Trevelyan’s goals.   _ Irving... _ even if I didn’t condone his methods.  Something scraped at my attention, but it was driven to the background when she spoke again.

“I shouldn’t bother you with my family’s issues, but...I don’t understand her.  Safeyya.  My only daughter, and I have never - no, that is untrue.  She was always willful, but also did listen when Andraste’s plan was discussed by the Chantry, if not by her father and I.  No matter how I reached out once I found out she’d miraculously survived the Conclave, there was no response.  Not even when her older brother passed...only now.”  Her eyes closed.  “I don’t know what I have done so wrong.”

“Excuse me?”  I shouldn’t say anything, but...her eyes shone with moisture.  Every word she spoke made seductive sense.  I could have heard the same from Josephine, only with less peppering of the Chantry.  

She shook her head.  “No, Cullen.  You have your place in the Chantry, and I don’t...I shouldn’t involve you.  I hadn’t expected Deen herself to support Safeyya’s latest wild imaginings, though.”

I blinked.  “Safeyya - the Herald - wild imaginings?”   _ Fey?   _ I responded with complete sincerity, though I did choose my words carefully.  “In the years I was the Inquisition’s Commander, I never saw her react,” I couldn’t say intemperately because she  _ had  _ a temper and had acted on it, “without cause and reason.”

A dry, humorless chuckle.  “So, even you have seen it.  Yes, she is intelligent.  But...we failed her, her father and I.  We let her spend her time in just the Chant rather than learning the ways of Ostwick and the secular skills we prayed she wouldn’t need.  It was Stephanson who planned to return to Ostwick and rule when their father could not.”

Stephanson.   _ He’d not hurt us so it would show.  ‘He was close to Ser Alrik, who I believe you remember.’   _ “Templars rarely return to the lives they’d held before, my...Fatima.”  Fey was not the only Trevelyan woman who could make me return to being awkwardly nineten.

An eyebrow rose.  “That is true, although it seems you are doing your utmost to change that fact.  In either case, her duty is clear as the only Trevelyan.  Her father would expect no less - and would have told her himself, had she the courtesy to return to her family and home to send Stephanson to the Maker’s side.   _ Ostwick  _ expects it, even after her years of absence in the South.  What must I do to see the city taken care of?  I cannot claim it, for all my years helping my lord with his duties.”

Fey had mentioned long ago the ‘battle sickness’ she inherited from her father.  She had never spoken of her mother, never mentioned the poise and passion clearly inherited along with her arching brows from the woman in front of me.  Her words were reasonable, her passion contained...and I still couldn’t rid my back of an odd tension.  Perhaps I had knelt in prayer for too long.

“Safeyya is the Herald of Andraste and close friend of the Divine.”  I picked my words as carefully as any footwork.  Those words made her gaze drop.  “I have trouble seeing her as Lady of a city, even her childhood home.”

“She yearned so for the Chantry.  I wish sometimes her path had led her there rather than to the needs of Ostwick.  Stephanson was the same.  He yearned to serve.  As a Templar, he could have, and then returned as heir.  Then he passed, and Safeyya refuses to wed at her station.  Now, she is threatening to give up her name and responsibilities altogether!  I fear for the city if her ruling family loses its way.”

Fey was rejecting it all?  Was  _ that  _ what the ‘discussion’ had been?  Even beyond that, “What of Rodrick?”

The sweetness closed.  “My Lord and I had two children; Stephanson and Safeyya.”

That drew blood.  I’d known his leaving had not been an easy one, but… “The Circles are no longer compulsory.  There is no shame in the gifts the Maker has given a person.”

“Andraste would not have given that curse to a Trevelyan.  We are Her guardians and hands here.   _ You  _ understand, from what I have heard.  Twice you have seen why Andraste warned us against mages.  Three times, if what we have heard of the battles of the Inquisition are true.”

Her riposte drew not blood, but memories.  I knew what mages could do.  I remembered Kinloch Circle’s chapel, the Revered Mother torn to shreds by either magic or an abomination.  I remembered my fellows, drowned in their own blood or with their minds ripped open until they accepted a spirit to stop the pain.  What she did not understand was that I also knew what  _ Templars  _ could do.  Alrik’s ‘tranquil solution’ that only Sabah’s questions revealed after his death.  What Ser Karras got involved in.  Samson even before he succumbed to Corypheus’ temptations, selling mage children to slavers to buy lyrium on the streets.  More, the horrible mistakes of the Wardens under Warden-Commander Clarel with the help of a powerful fear demon and a Magister. 

“That is true, my lady,” I chose to reject the earlier offer of intimacy and return to her title, “but the alternative is also true.  I have seen many mages risk their abilities and lives in defense of those who had no hope.  The Hero of Ferelden was one.  I think the skills a man has available matter less than his character and faith.  I don’t know Rodrick, but I,”  _ speak carefully,  _ “have had the privilege of serving Safeyya for years as Commander of the Inquisition.  I have no doubt she will do what is best.”

“I...see.”  Another sigh.  “I will have to rely on your faith rather than my own.  She has a good heart, but her judgement...she has struggled.  Her father and I had to help her return to Andraste’s chosen path more than once.  Please, think on what I have said, Cullen.  If there is anything you can do to help...”

Think?  “I promise that.”  This was a conversation I would pour over.

She stood in a flurry of black silk, the candlelight streaming a fiery overlay.  A hand lightly brushed mine.  “Thank you.  Unfortunately...I believe I need solitude.”

So did I.  I shook myself.  “Then let me take  _ my  _ leave.  There is no better place for solitude and peace than somewhere like...this.”  I waved the hand she’d taken, capturing the chapel.  “My lady.”

**

Now I wandered the halls aimlessly.   _ Why  _ did I long for my sword?  Was it a mention of Stephanson, or Kirkwall itself?   _ Two Circles.  I had survived the fall of two Circles, mages glorying in death and blood magic, forbidden by Andraste for good reason.  Abominations.   _ Blood and lyrium replaced the chapel’s incense with each step.  Blood, lyrium...and madness.

Cassandra’s voice.   _ ‘To call us heretics when it was Justinia’s writ that created the Inquisition? Madness!’ _

__ Why would that word come to mind?  The madness of Kirkwall...the madness of Kinloch...it wasn’t the mages that were coming to mind.  My feet measured the courtyard I stepped into, shells along the path sounding strange against my boots.  There was something...more memories flared forward.  Gregoir, my first Knight-Commander.  Grand Cleric Elthina.  Knight-Commander Meredith.  The passion and certainty in her lyrium-blue eyes, even as she condemned a Circle for what a Warden abomination had done.

Luck placed a bench just as my knee fired a reminder that even though it had been healed, it had been secondary to my back.  I sat and kept thinking.  Fey was devout.  She had to be, for Andraste to choose her.  She was also forged of veridium.  There was more strength in her slender form than most I’ve seen.  Why would she hide from her family?   _ Stephanson.   _ No, she hadn’t reaced out even at his death.   _ Rodie.   _ Apparently disowned due to his magic.   _ ‘Andraste would never lay such a curse on our family.’   _ Andraste wouldn’t ‘curse’ a Trevelyan with magic; therefore, the mage child  _ wasn’t  _ a Trevelyan.  Elegant.  Simple.   _ Wrong.   _ The Chant said  _ nothing  _ of magic as a curse.

_ Meredith had called it a curse.  I had believed that.   _ In my case it had been the weeping rents Kinloch had put in my soul.  Here?   _ ‘Her father and I had to return her to Andraste’s path more than once.’   _

Irving.  Not the once-First Enchanter of Kinloch, but another man, slight and dark.  A childhood friend, sold to a Tevinter Magister.   _ By her parents.   _ Safeyya had blamed herself.  More slotted into place.  Lady Fatima Trevelyan’s first insistence on not bothering me, and then pouring out her upset and delicately implying I should use my history and influence to ‘correct’ Fey’s decisions.

_ Maker preserve me. _

Devotion to  _ her  _ views, and seeing Andraste reflected in them.  This woman was  _ dangerous.   _ If I hadn’t known Alissa - the Hero of Ferelden…Cassandra, who for all her directness was Divine because she  _ questioned... _

_ I might never have noticed.   _ Even after  _ years  _ of watching Josephine work - Josephine and Leliana both.  Even in the unnatural-feeling warmth so far north, I felt my skin shiver.   _ No wonder Fey didn’t want to come back.   _


	27. Truth

“Sovereign for your thoughts?”  The teasing alto broke through the stew of memory and worry I floated in.  I looked up to meet living green eyes and a teasing smile that didn’t hide the shadows or fury.

Fury was...dangerous.  I shook my head.  No, here wasn’t the place.   _ Especially _ if Fey’s temper had already sparked.  “Worry,” I said instead of giving more detail.  “Should I offer the sovereign back or wait until later?”

“Dorian invited us over when we were done here.”

He had?

It made sense, I admitted.  More, I couldn’t deny the sudden release of tension from my stomach.  Dorian could navigate the unpleasant slurry of family and politics like no one else; he also had a calming effect on Fey.  More than that, Bull was there.  I could feel my own restless tension.  A solid bout against someone I didn’t have to be careful around?  I could think of little better.  “Do Mother Deen or Rodrick need anything else?”

She shook her head.  “Rodie might wind up joining us.  There’s a lot we need to discuss.”

**

The pattern continued for the next two days.  Escort Fey to the estate and spend the morning in prayer.  Dodge Lady Trevelyan when possible, try to keep her deceptively persuasive words from taking root when I failed.  Afternoons were often spent with Dorian and Bull.  Rodrick and I circled around our distrust, snarling but unwilling to make Fey call either of us to heel.  Bull helped more than I wanted to admit, giving me some kind of outlet to burn off the rising tension.

Unfortunately, Fey didn’t have a similar outlet, not when she, Dorian, and Rodrick used that time to strategize.

The funeral was to be in the evening.  No, not funeral, but the final services for Lord Trevelyan.  When I heard the door open behind me, I suppressed a sigh.  “Lady Trevelyan.”  Today she was in a different black gown, but one with less dripping lace.  It was remarkably flattering to a remarkable figure, given her age.

“Fatima.”

It was a battle I lost each time.  “My lady…”

“Cullen, I have no one to speak to as a person, rather than head of what’s left of my family.  Please.”

The incense was refreshed every morning, thick and redolent with memories.  How many times had I sought refuge here?  Not Ostwick of course, but the scents brought back Skyhold, Haven, Kirkwall, Honnleath, the little village two days out of the Hunterhorns, a half-hundred other places.  It was hard here to not see a different green-eyed woman with amber skin and dark hair.  So many things her mother said could have been said by my wife.  “I...please.”  I looked at her for a moment to try something I had not the past days.  “Have you tried talking to her?”

That drew the first unexpected laugh from her I’d heard.  “What do you think I have done every morning?  Safeyya spends as little time here as possible, and none without either the mage or Grand Cleric at her side.  She will listen to  _ nothing  _ I say.”

Another voice entered the conversation, this one dagger-edged despite the same melodic tones.  “You’ve said nothing worth listening to.”  Living green eyes met mine, and I could see the fire in them and her controlled movements.  “You’ve also not listened to a word anyone else has said, so it is fair.”  Her long strides sped her into the chapel, though she kept an unconscious four feet from her mother despite her pacing.   _ Outside arm’s reach.   _

“Saffeya…”

Her eyes pinned her mother.  “Were you trying to convince Cullen of the rightness of  _ your  _ view of Andraste’s will?  He’s the Right Hand of Divine Victoria.  He was Commander of the Inquisition.  He’s seen false believers before.”

A gasp.  “How  _ dare  _ you!  You embarrass yourself and the Trevelyan name with these sort of histronic outbursts.  You must learn to control yourself now that you will be Premier of Ostwick.”

“I won’t.”

I shouldn’t be here.  On the other hand, I didn’t dare leave.  I could see the tension under Fey’s fury...and this was a side of Lady Trevelyan that had been hidden, though it was still cloaked in the gentle poison of her certainty.  “Fey,” I murmured.

She ignored me, her attention entirely on the woman she faced.

“You must!  This city has been under the protection of Andraste and the Trevelyan family since the Imperium was for…”

Her voice cut through her mother’s.  “Then you should look to your son, the only remaining Trevelyan.  I abandoned that name gladly.”

Her mother gaped.  “That’s not...possible.”

“It is.  I renounced the name and took my husband’s.  If you want Father’s blood and name to remain in Ostwick, then you’ll have to humble yourself enough to realize mages are still people.  Stephanson was wrong, and he delighted in the luxury of cruelty to those he’d deemed ‘unworthy’ of compassion.”

_ “Fey.” _

“How  _ dare  _ you impunge the good name of your brother!  He was a man following Andraste’s will, and recognized for it!”

Fey’s eyes slit.  “He was a boy who ripped wings off of flies to watch them die, all while saying it was Andraste’s will.  I’m not surprised you can’t see it, since it came from you.  After all,  _ you’re  _ the one who had no problem selling a boy to slavery just for being a friend.”

“It was for your own…!”

“No.  It was  _ never  _ for  _ my  _ good.  It was for  _ your  _ pride, your damned self-righteousness and certainty that  _ you  _ knew what Andraste wanted.  The same pride that kept you from ever hearing Her voice.”

Fatima’s face went white.   _ “How dare you,”  _ she hissed.  “You, who had the chance for Andraste’s favor and abandoned it - your deformity is  _ your  _ fault for ignoring your family duties and Andraste’s will!  Come back to Ostwick, bend before the Maker’s Bride.  I will find you a proper husband, one who will overlook your failures, and..”

“I already have!”

I could see her skin shudder briefly, and couldn’t stop myself.  It took only two steps to get close enough to grab her arm before she spun to move away again.  Had she her left hand still, I would have been bruised or bleeding.  As it was, I brushed her cheek with my right.  “Fey,” I murmured, ignoring the aghast woman behind me.  “Fey, she can’t do anything to you.”

Her cheek pressed slightly against my fingers, enough that I dropped it.  Something dark shadowed her eyes - regret?  Sorrow?  It smothered her burning anger.

“What...what...is the meaning of…”

Her eyes left mine to look over my shoulder, dripping empty, bitter satisfaction.  “You really are blind to what you don’t want to see.  Cullen Rutherford, Right Hand of the Divine, and I wed during the Exalted Council.”  The acid ate into even my bones.  Of all the ways I thought our marriage would become public knowledge...  “Unfortunately, I doubt he’ll fall for your self-righteous lies the way I did as a child.  Your choices are plain.  Accept the Trevelyan name is carried by the man you have tried to forget, or watch it all dissolve around you.  You see, you  _ have  _ no other choices.  You can’t take the name or Premiership.  Oh, and if you try to destroy Rodie?  Your insistence that I was Father’s heir had one flaw.  It meant the servants let me into his study.”

The weight of silence behind me went from the stomach-twisting ‘kindly’ fury to cold.  I had the oddest sensation that Lady Trevelyan was listening with every fiber of her being.

“Yes,  _ mother.”   _ The first time I’d heard that word from Fey, and it held the same sick history as ‘Knight-Commander’ did for me.  She stepped around me, and I turned to watch the two women.  One was full of leashed energy, oiled and ready.  The other was frozen still despite the calculation I could see in Lady Trevelyan’s eyes - calculation that quickly turned to shock.  “I found Father’s journals.  His private ones.  You’ll do  _ nothing  _ to Rodie but fade into graceful retirement somewhere out of his way.”  Her Inquisitor’s voice, certain and hard.  There was no velvet glove or even the now-recognizable fear of a girl who’d suffered terribly under her parent’s ‘understanding’ of faith and devotion.  “Yes.  If you work against him or harm him in any way, it will all come out.  Coincidentally, he is the only member of the family who is truly innocent of what you and Father did, thanks to your cruelty.”

This time the silence was hollowed out by memories between the two women.   _ Maker, thank you that I don’t need to know more.   _ What I already  _ did  _ know churned in my stomach.

“Goodbye,  _ Mother.”   _ Fey turned toward the door, her long-legged stride carrying her away.  I took one moment to look, the sanctity of the chapel shattered around me.  Lady Trevelyan stared.  No, I realized, nothing I did could do anything but make this situation worse.  I followed my lady out.

**

She didn’t speak until Dorian, still mussed, had let us into his villa.  “Commander?”

The fact he asked  _ me  _ for information make me laugh.  “It’s done, Dorian.”

“Ah…”  The man ran his own carefully-manicured hand through his hair.  What I said meant more to him than I realized, though I should have.  Dorian was a  _ Magister,  _ the only place I knew where the Orlesian ‘Game’ of politics and bloodless death was compared to children playing tag.  “So, our dear Herald has played her cards in favor of Rodrick, has she?”

Of course he knew.  What else had he, Rodrick, and Fey been plotting this past week.  “Yes.”

“Worse, peacock.”  Her dull voice joined in, but the immediate tension we shared faded at her nickname for him.  “I lost my temper and told her about Cullen and I.”

His hand flew to his mouth as he shook his head.  “Oh, dear.   _ That  _ was...Camilla?”

I shook my head, then took a glass of some kind of golden liquid from the servant.  It burned pleasantly.  “No.”  The thought of that woman getting her hands and honey-poisoned words wrapped around our daughter was enough to make me long for a sword rather than crystal in my hand.  Foolishly.  Rashly.  I took another sip, letting the fumes burn off the twist of fear.

“Then we can still manage.  Even if, there would be a way.  You used the journals, yes?  I have a copy, your Mother Deen has a copy...there is no possibility of Lady Trevelyan being able to destroy the information, and  _ that  _ information would destroy her careful cocoon of apparent gentle piety.  Cassandra - forgive me, your Divine - has set the scroll with her formal permission so long as Rodrick takes Trevelyan as a caretaker and his heir is no mage.”  His words had settled into his usual brisk cadence as he punctuated them with waves of his own full glass.  “Safeyya, my love, you are only needed long enough to be declared outcast from your family and watch your brother ascend.  A  _ mage,  _ and a good man, taking control of a Southern city?  It was a  _ brilliant  _ move, pumpkin.”

If only it would be that easy.

**

A week later, I had eaten my cynical thought.  With Dorian, Fey, and Mother Deen working together, it  _ was  _ that easy.  Lady Trevelyan was ‘ill’ when Fey and Rodrick met with representatives of the city’s noble families and Chantry.  A half-day later, and her fantastically official renunciation of the Trevelyan name was grudgingly accepted along with the Divine’s special permission.  Before the Chantry and Andraste herself, Rodrick knelt and swore on his life to never use his powers as Premier, was given a circlet and a ring of keys, and it was over.

I watched as he and his sister hugged again, the stump of her arm as hidden by his body as his scarred face was by her cheek.  The words they murmured to each other - I waited well out of earshot.  Fey kissed his cheek, then stepped back toward me.  Rodrick’s wary eyes met mine.

“So.  Brother.”

I didn’t resist a dry half-smile.  “It’s better than the other - or Ser.  Brother.”

“Come back to Ostwick,” he offered.  “In a year, maybe two.  I’ll make sure  _ Mother  _ is out of the way and things are...steady.  Maybe I’ll fund one of those Colleges here since Ostwick’s Circle never reformed.”

“You should,” Fey murmured.  “I know a few mages who’d do well out here.”

A few more moments, a long look as Rodrick and I clasped forearms, and then it was time for Fey and I to board the ship.  Duty called.  Thank Andraste, it called us away from here.  I turned my back on the sun-soaked land my wife had once called home, looking back toward the cooler and more straightforward cities I knew far better.  Duty.  Red lyrium.  Cassandra.

_ Home. _


	28. Homecoming

I would have given much to not have the days on ship with nothing to do but think.  Cassandra had grudgingly acceded to our determination that the Wardens were free of any undue influence; with both of us determined, she did not have the confidence to call an Exalted March.  To be honest, the Chantry lacked the resources or backing as well.  Safeyya’s decision to recruit the Wardens, combined with their tireless work in both Orlais and Ferelden to address not the mysterious Blight but the terrifying spectre of red lyrium had gained them more goodwill than I could have predicted.

Since neither of us wished for an all-out war against the Order, perhaps it was best despite Alissa’s choices.  Alissa.  No, I had not decided to support her just because she had given me back my life.  I was certain of that - almost as certain as I was of my support for Fey long before she’d had the opportunity to prove her faith and ability to all of us.  Thinking of her was enough to call her to the deck, standing close enough against the rail to brush my shoulder.

She said nothing.  She had said nothing of her family or Ostwick since we left the city again, destined for Orlais.  “Will you return to Honnleath?”

Fey ignored my question.  Had I spoken too quietly to hear over the ship itself or the slapping waves?  No.  She was still in her own thoughts, a place in her memories where I was unwelcome.  Though I had seen it before, I now understood it.

Anger was immediately shoved back under the surface.  I had been through trauma, yes; I had  _ not  _ suffered what she had.  I had not had parents whose love came with such poisonous caveats, or faith with such narrow minded conviction.  My eldest sister was an exasperating strength, not a monster who tortured our brother.   _ That  _ was what she had grown knowing, with only the Chantry as a sanctuary.  The surprise was not that she hated them, but that her faith was a shining beacon to all who met her.

Instead, I joined her, letting the waves make whimsical patterns.  This was not how I had anticipated my life.

“We must go to Orlais.”

I blinked, torn out of my reverie.  “What did you say?”

My wife still directed her voice at the vast sea surrounding us.  “Kal-Sharok, and the Templars.  We can’t affect the Wardens, but the Templars are under your command.”

“Only to a degree,” I admitted.  “While the Nevarran Accord was not completely restored, the Order demanded a degree of its old autonomy.  Cassandra granted it.”

“Ser Barris, Ser Zay - you said he was a good man.  Ser Renee, now in Starkhaven.  They must address their own ranks, but need you.”

I had no idea what she meant.  “Fey, I am not a Templar.”

She nodded.  “Exactly. So you cannot be corrupted.”

Oh.  Ser Thomas...the corrupted lyrium in his rations.  I turned over the thought.  Perhaps I could be of use as more than a sign that the Order did not need to be a permanent oath.  Ser Rylen and I had done much to give those who had seen too much hope, but hope alone was not enough.  So many of the senior Knight-Commanders had been lost to Samson’s spite, those who had the title now were either too indecisive to have acted during the war or too new to be comfortable with the cruelty sometimes demanded by command.

**

It didn’t take long for the near-hysteria of our reception in Val Cherise to begin to change Fey’s mind, even outside the masks internal and hung on various faces.

Fey wanted to go home.  Unlike previous visits, I stayed at the Order’s barracks while she found lodgings in the Chantry.  My time was easier than hers, I imagined; there was no awe directed at me from my proud hosts.

_ Maker.   _ As much attention as I received even as both example and pariah within the Order, I was not a focus of worship.  I laid sleepless in my solitary bed, listening to the tolling of hours I knew as well as my own pulse.  It ached.  Everything.  The oppressive scent of lyrium hung all around, somehow more present when I was not having to interact with my former Brothers.  My dreams would never be a guaranteed refuge, but tonight?  I didn’t desire the calming rush any longer - I didn’t.  But the insulation the daily draught had once promised against memories was another matter.

When I breathed, my back reminded me it had been shattered not so long ago.  Ghosts ran along nerves I no longer had beneath the burn scars over my hip.  Old wounds, any warrior knew, never healed.  Just like the sky, the remnants ran deep.  I held myself still, not wanting reminders of my knee.  The shoulder I’d used to brace against a behemoth once twinged despite my efforts.

No, the memories didn’t fade.  Not without what I’d left behind.

Instead of simply beating them back, I evened my breathing and called on the light that had stayed in my heart for the past five years, amber and ebony.  That living green, the way her lips quirked ever so slightly at the private joke we shared in the various official events, the scent of her hair, her hand resting over my heart as she slept.

I had missed her - not just tonight, but all those empty nights as I worked to heal the rents left in the Chantry.  Fey and I had fought, prayed, and loved for years.  The last two, we had tried to balance duty and our own hearts.

This trip, Fey at my side made me realize I no longer wanted to.

A trickle of dampness irritated my ear, making me twitch.  I didn’t want to balance the two, but what other option was there?  I couldn’t abandon my wife.  I shifted, accepting the phantom pain, to press my face against the pillow.  It soaked up the tears, silent and non judgemental.  I was just as unable to abandon Cassandra.  She was not just the Divine, Andraste’s representative to her Chantry, but a friend bound by the same spilled blood as Fey - and more.  It was Cassandra who had stood firm in her faith even as mine faltered against two shattered Circles and the horrors of lyrium withdrawal.

_ Could  _ red Templars go through a similar process?

No.  No, I knew better.  There were two ‘cures’ for someone chained by Blighted lyrium: the Wardens or death.

I tried to rest - not sleep.  Experience told me better. All I could do was pray that in the Chantry, Fey’s sleep was a gift denied me.

**

As soon as the darkness lightened - around the fourth bell of the new day - I was already up.  I didn’t bother with my formal uniform or armor; if there was treachery here, I was dead.  Instead I collected sword and shield where they lay on the rack decorating any room in the Order’s spaces, slipped on my travel-worn clothes from yesterday, and made my way to something that could provide comfort.

It was still silent.

I needed silence.

In the open air of the courtyard, the stink of lyrium was less present.  It was soon buried under my own stink - clean sweat as I fought against the dreams I’d refused the night before.  Kinloch.  The Gallows.  The horrors of Kirkwall’s invasions, the constant drives, the look I’d once seen in a broken woman’s sapphire eyes.  I’d abandoned her, too.

Not pells, but the forms of parry and riposte, set and strike, flowed without thought.  Decades had etched the angles and balance deep into my bones, deeper than memory.  Here, I found the peace denied me earlier.  It would be enough.  It  _ had  _ to be enough.

Unfortunately, the comfortable repetition no longer claimed my full attention.  Part of my mind was free to explore what I wanted to avoid.  Lady Trevelyan was an enemy.  Would she join the ranks of those who sheltered the rogues of my former Order?  Would she act against the Chantry itself, or would she ‘merely’ plot against Fey and I?

The Order, less than five years after the Lord Seeker’s betrayal, still hadn’t recovered.  Seeking the rogues was necessary for both the mages of the Colleges and those who had regained their faith.  Faith - oh, faith was a tricky thing.

All of this was despite the red lyrium.

The Order had problems enough.

The Chantry had problems enough.

My knee gave out as I tried to recover from the lunge.

I fell forward, driving my off knee into the flagstones along with my sword.  Gasping, I abandoned my reverie to return to the here and now.  Light had crept over the marble-faced walls, shadowing the hallway I stepped down to fight my demons.  A servant stood startled against the far archway, while two of the Order were waiting patiently for my attention to include them.

“Forgive me.”

They murmured something polite as I took another breath.  Pushing myself back to my feet  _ hurt.   _ The muscles of my right thigh trembled over a dead line that should be agonizing.  Not all nerves, Alissa had explained apologetically, would listen to her magic.  She had come too late for those.  I couldn’t complain.

“Ser?”

I looked over at the servant.  “Yes?”

He was stocky and young; likely a recruit, now that I had time to consider.  I sheathed my sword and pushed sweat-soaked hair from my face.

The poor lad took another moment to gather himself.  “Ser, I was asked...will you break fast with the Knight-Lieutenant? She would be honored.”

It  _ had  _ grown that late.  “Of course,” I responded automatically.  “Give me time to bathe.  Will others join us?”

He shook his head.  “No, ser.”

I blinked, but - it was not unreasonable.  “Of course.”  The habits of a lifetime…  “Please send word to the Chantry that I will be occupied until mid-morning, then am at the Herald’s disposal.”

What Fey’s response would be to  _ that,  _ I would either give a great deal to see - or thanks that I was out of her reach.  With my lady, it could easily go either way.  In either case, I thought as I worked to not limp back toward my room, it would distract her from her own worries.

**

Lyrium would deal with the frustratingly missing pain.  I shook my head, still damp from my quick wash, and finished buttoning my jacket.  No.  No, I’d long since abandoned that.  But with the scorched scent hanging in the air, it was hard to not fall back on old habits, and harder still to not look at the empty cabinet hung near the door.

There were no mirrors in one of the Order’s spare rooms, even one fit for the Right Hand.  I was treated more as a prodigal member of the Order rather than the usual dignitary, though I had little doubt Cassandra had stayed in this very room before.

**

“Ser.”

I shook my head, weary already.  The lightning-scent of lyrium was almost choking in the Knight-Lieutenant’s private office.  Something…  No, it was just my uneasiness.  I had been able to meet with Knight-Commanders and the like in open courtyards for the past years, or at the Chantries.  “At ease.  I am not here on official business.”

Ah, the mix of respect and uneasiness - or was that all in my mind, a leftover of the guilt for abandoning my post in Kirkwall?  Perhaps the shock of Ostwick left me seeing enemies behind every smile; odd, that Orlais itself had not done so.

“I...of course not.”  She gestured to the desk, where a hearty breakfast was laid out.  “Please.  While you didn’t come on business, there are matters I should bring up.”

Of course there were.  The weight of responsibility had only grown heavier.  Eggs delicately whisked with vegetables and some kind of marinated cheese, pastries, sauce over the eggs - even the Order couldn’t escape being in Orlais.  I should be grateful that at least with my brothers, breakfast wasn’t served in courses with the ridiculous ices and wines pairing each one.

I gestured to the chair that was clearly hers.  Manners at least died hard.  “After you, Ser…?”

“Kiera, Right Hand.”

From someone used to discipline, the formality was less painful.  I could at least reply in kind, knowing the gulf in rank.  We sat, and I managed to force a bite without the discomfort showing on my face - I hoped.  “Thank you again for your hospitality.  The discipline you maintain appears solid.”

Only the slight shift of weight gave off something different than her formal voice.  Unless it was my imagination?  “Thank you.  But it isn’t what it should be.  I’ve had discipline issues.  Ones that have made no sense.”

Was it the cream on the eggs that made my stomach clench, or the lyrium in the air?  Something kept testing my senses.  “Discipline?  I don’t remember there being any reports of abuses here.” That, I would not have forgotten.

Ser Kiera shook her head sharply.  “No! No, those I wouldn’t tolerate. Disgruntlement, perhaps. Frustration, and I can’t - there’s something in the water it seems. We don’t even have a Circle here. We train young Templars, season them, and are the node for the next three counties.”

I shook my head. “Yes, of course.” Why was she bothering me with minor things? Every chapter would have those moments. “I don’t know what it is you want me to do. I was a Knight-Commander, but that was years ago and in a very different place.”

She sipped her tea, her morning draught next to it glowing faintly in the light.

It wasn’t an insult.

I was certain of it.  Even in Orlais - none but a recovered Templar would know how much challenge it was being around lyrium.  I tried to breathe more shallowly, taking another bite.  I couldn’t force down much.

There was something.

The small-talk continued almost below my notice. It meant I was of little help, but - what bothered me so?

What…

She’d picked up her draught and sniffed it.  Habit - oh, the demons of habit. I took a deep breath myself, the scent filling my nose…

“Stop!”

It was at her lips.

Maker have mercy.  Ice ran through my blood.  “Stop. Give it to me.”

“I thought...I have more, in my cabinet…” The Knight-Lieutenant was confused.  All knew I’d freed myself of the chain.

“Now.”

I damned my voice, but the cold command worked.  Shaken, she handed it to me. A single drop slipped out, making a crater of temptation on my eggs.  In either case, I closed my eyes, forced discipline, and took another sniff.

Only an addict’s nose could detect it, or perhaps I was more sensitive thanks to what I had seen.

Corruption.

It was tainted.

“What is it?  Ser Cullen?”

The sharper edge in Kiera’s voice made me return to the moment.  How could I even explain? Worse, how had I failed to earlier? There was no time for recriminations now, though I knew it was only a temporary reprive.

“Red lyrium.” She paled; thank Andraste Ser Barris had at least ensured all the officers of the Order were aware of what that meant.

“No,” she breathed.  “It’s blue.  We’ve kept the same suppliers, the same contacts – I swear it.”

I nodded. “It is, I would bet my life on it.” Worse, I was betting the souls of the Order here. Would she dare to do the same? Daring was…not a thing the Order used to seek or encourage among its members, preferring obedience and dedication. ‘Slavish obedience,’ Dorian had once remarked in his caustic way. I would not go that far, but knew others who would.

I held her eyes.

“Maker have mercy.”  She swallowed, then stood, her tea splashing on the floor amidst the sudden sound of shattering crockery.  “Nevin! Lartion!”

The smooth shift of the opening door was only evident in the changing clatter of armor.  I stayed in my chair.  One last sniff to confirm; yes. It was the same scent as I’d noticed in Ser Thomas’ kit. Maker help them indeed. How long could any of them go without?

It depended.

I knew better than the Knight-Lieutenant. A day, and the need would be present in any of the older Templars. By three, even the younger would be twitching, and within a week at most the nightmares smothered by the only blessing the drug gave us would re-emerge, combined with the fiery pain along every nerve, through every vein.

At least there was no Circle here.  Was there a College of Enchanters? Damning myself, I realized I had no idea. Any Templar who had seen an abomination or a failed Harrowing…who had hunted malificar…

They would lose the ability to recognize friend from foe.

How to ensure the lyrium was safe?

The Knight-Lieutenant came back in, her face tight. “I’ve ordered my assistant to have the servants collect every draught and put them into my private vault. Every cabinet, the mess, all of it.”  She was shaken enough for it to be apparent to even someone who couldn’t look beyond the thick blanket of the Order’s training.

I carefully set the draught still between my fingers down before decades of habit overcame me.

“What do we do now?” The question was – I hoped it wasn’t to me. “How can we function when we must fear the very thing we rely on?”

I closed my eyes.  How indeed? More, how far had this spread?

“Send a messenger to the Chantry and summon the Herald.” It was not a request.

**

Fey wrapped herself in my arms in the privacy of Ser Kiera’s hastily-offered study. It wasn’t for her comfort; no, it was for mine. I blessed her for that. The messages had gone out by fast courier and bird alike; there was evidence that some of the lyrium sent to the Order was tainted. We didn’t know how much. We didn’t know where.

We had no solutions other than the one thing Fey brought up; ask a Warden.

I’d  never considered.  I hadn’t thought.

“Cullen,” she murmured. “This isn’t your fault.”

I tried to choke off my response. She still looked up, eyes flaring.

“It isn’t! You couldn’t have expected or known something like this was so widespread!”

Perhaps not, but I’d been a Knight-Commander. I knew the Carta. There were few suppliers. If it was Tainted in one area...the Carta guarded its lyrium trade like Templars used to guard the mages: with dedication, certainty - and frequently rampant paranoia. It was what kept them alive.

I should have realized.

How many would fall to red lyrium thanks to my complacency?


End file.
